Swan Song
by Deb3
Summary: 21st in the Fearful Symmetry series. An accident for Calleigh and Rosalind plants the team in the middle of trying to prevent a murder before it occurs.
1. Chapter 1

Here's part one of Swan Song, written down over several short breaks today on my day off devoted to outside work on my farm. However, it's 104 degrees. I love the heat, don't even have air conditioning, but I did take many, many drink breaks over the day, just to stay safe, so I got chapter one written down. The computer is behaving itself, and hopefully all electronic hassles of the last few months are over. Swan Song will be updated more slowly than usual for me. It is competing for time slots with another work to be written down, and the other one takes priority, so this one will only get blocks of time too short for the other. Also, sorry for the extensive notes at the beginning, but they are necessary with this one.

Title: Swan Song

Rating: T+

Disclaimer: CSIM and its characters are not mine. Rosalind is totally mine. There are several characters in this story who are based to different extents on actual people, and in all cases, names and some details have been changed to preserve privacy. Sam, Sarah, Tom, and Lynella are all purely fictional creations.

Series: This is the 21st story in the Fearful Symmetry series. Fearful Symmetry, Can't Fight This Feeling, Gold Medals, Surprises, Honeymoon, Blackout, the Hopes and Fears, Anniversary, Framed, Sight for Sore Eyes, Trials and Tribbulations, Premonition, Do No Harm, the CSI Who Loved Me, Complications, Yet to Be, More Deadly, Photo Finish, the Caine Mutiny, Calleighella, and Swan Song.

Story Note and Request: Swan Song was conceived in early November 2004 and written (though not yet written down) in November and December. It was a wonderful story to work with, cooperative and flowing like music, although it also is the closest in the FS series I have ever come to killing a story unborn. More on that at the final chapter. I wrote it, finished it, admired it, and put it aside in line to be written down, and I expected everything to stop there, but it refused. I have dearly loved this story since the beginning, and instead of just parking it, like a normal finished story, my muse apparently wanted to do more with it. Swan Song split itself and was reborn as a full-length novel, original fiction, with a slightly different case and focus, not a CSIM story at all. It is much more developed that way, deeper, and is, in fact, still being finished. The original fanfiction story wasn't touched, but the novel developed alongside it independently. Someday, when I finish the novel and get it all written down, I will probably try to get it published in the real world, and that's what brings me to the requests. SSFS and SSOF are entirely independent stories, and the story lines are hardly identical, but nobody reading both could fail to see the resemblance and even what would be called flagrant plagiarism if they weren't both mine. The entire last scene in particular will be transported almost verbatim to the novel, and Circle of Starlight is critical to both versions. So if you ever see something looking much like this in a bookstore (and you would recognize my real name), don't be surprised. However, to avoid any possible problems with copyright on the novel down the road, I am asking on this one story that it absolutely is not to be distributed in any way or shared beyond posting on the H/C group list, Lonely Road, and Those of you who make your own copies, do not share them with anyone. Even though SSOF is separate from SSFS, I do not want countless copies of this out there. Please cooperate with me on this one and be extra careful with it. Thanks.

Musical Notes: The music is almost a character in its own right in this story. I wish you could hear the songs, but I'll have to do my best to take you there in mere words. All songs mentioned anywhere in this story are real, and with the exception of Circle of Starlight, none of them belong to me. (This also will be dealt with appropriately in SSOF when I get to real-world and remunerative publication.) To avoid an incredibly long list now, I will put a musical notes section at the head of each chapter, appropriately crediting the creators of each song before the chapter in which it is first mentioned. Mentioned in chapter one: The Awakening is by Joseph Martin, both words and music. It is a musical setting of a nightmare of a world with no music at all, and it is more an experience than a song. Intricate, complex, challenging to both singers and accompanist, but I have never in my life heard any song that expresses in a better nutshell exactly how much difference music makes. The music is just as rich and powerful as the words, perfectly expressing dreamscape, growing agitation, horror, entrapment, and finally, relief and resolution. Circle of Starlight is mine. It was written especially for this story and is inextricable from it and the characters in it. You will get annoyed with me for the piecemeal way it is introduced, but I promise, you will get all of it in one concerted whole at the perfect time in the plot. There is a reason why my muse presented it this way, and I think you'll see it when you get there. As an unintentional (honest!) side effect, it will add a bit of realism to the story. Anyone who has ever been involved in performing arts knows that rehearsal involves much more start and stop and detail work than it does one seamless whole like the audience eventually hears it.

Dedication: To the Singers, who make Tuesday night the one unfailing highlight in every single week.

(H/C)

"I dreamed a dream.

I dreamed a dream, a silent dream,

Of a land not far away,

Where no birds sang, no steeples rang,

And teardrops fell like rain.

I dreamed a dream, a silent dream.

I dreamed a dream of a land so filled with pride

That every song, both weak and strong,

Withered and died."

The Awakening, Joseph Martin

(H/C)

Rain chased the car along the road, lashing the metal as if to whip it to greater effort, sensing the urgency. The man gripped the wheel firmly with both hands, eyes alert as the headlights cut the rain-fractured darkness. He allowed himself one quick glance at the clock on the dash. Why didn't she have her cell phone on? He had to find her, had to catch up with her before they did, had to try to reverse what he had unwittingly set in motion. His own danger never occurred to him. He had put her at risk, and now, she was entangled in this web along with him, helpless. No, not helpless. She at least could be helped, and even if he went down for his obliviousness in the past week, she would escape. Provided that he found her in time. His foot pressed harder on the accelerator, his eyes watchful for other traffic. The road was oddly deserted tonight. He knew the traffic would come later, once he was fully in Miami. Now was his chance to make up time. As the windshield wipers arm-wrestled the rain, their rhythmic squeak joined the pounding of his heartbeat to repeat one name, over and over. Sarah.

(H/C)

"Home," Rosalind sang cheerfully, sitting up in her car seat and straining against the straps to watch the rain-splashed windows eagerly. "Home, home, home."

Calleigh smiled, watching her daughter in the rearview mirror. Rosalind had been able to carry a tune even before she could talk, and people would sometimes stare at the golden-haired baby reproducing a recognizable melody on some wordless syllable. Now that she could talk, she had quickly started fitting her own words to tunes she knew, and tonight, all of her songs had one common theme. "Home! Dada! Home!" They were the same thing. Horatio was home. Wherever he was, that would always be home for Calleigh and for Rosalind.

The song stilled momentarily, and Calleigh smiled again. Rosalind, like her father at the piano, hated to stop in the middle of a piece and fracture the wholeness of it. She carefully finished the current reworded melody before pausing to speak. "Home soon, Mama?"

"Not too much longer, Angel. See the glow up there?" The horizon radiated the electricity of the city. "We'll be in Miami soon. And Dada will be waiting for us, I'm sure."

"Dada! Home!" Rosalind picked up a different melody, and Calleigh hummed along with her. Home. How much of her life had been spent with no positive feeling attached to that word? She couldn't even remember and didn't try. The past was over. The present was here, literally a gift to her, to be lovingly unwrapped, day by day. Up ahead, Horatio was waiting. At home.

He hadn't meant to stay behind. He and Calleigh both had a week's vacation scheduled for October and were going to drive up the East Coast through the Smokey Mountains, along with an invitation to Norfolk to meet her brother Peter's fiancée, but the job, as so often, wedged itself into their plans at the last minute. Just days before their departure, the call had come from the district attorney. A trial, a critically important trial, had been suddenly rescheduled, and Horatio was needed to testify. He would have to be on standby for that whole week.

Calleigh wanted to reschedule the entire trip, but Horatio had insisted that she and Rosalind go ahead without him. Peter was expecting them. Becky was expecting them. With his unfailing consideration, he refused to disrupt everyone else's plans just because his had been upset. So Calleigh and Rosalind went on and even enjoyed the trip, although Calleigh called him every night. Not only did she want the caressing touch of his voice herself, but Rosalind wouldn't go to sleep at nights without his benediction.

Now he was up ahead, just miles away, and those separating miles were disappearing one by one. Miami was just ahead. Home. Horatio. Home.

The lights of an approaching car swept up behind her, and Calleigh glanced at her speedometer. She was hurrying herself as much as was prudent in the rain; he had to be speeding. The lights were perfectly steady, though, with no drunken waver, and he flicked on his blinker as he shifted into the other lane to pass her. Whatever he was hurrying to, he was not disregarding other traffic. She edged over a bit, to give him plenty of room to slide by her.

"Home!" Rosalind sang. "Dada! Ho-"

Rosalind and Calleigh saw the rain-streaked world erupt at the same time, and both were uncomprehending for a second. Dark shapes leaped from the side of the road. As the passing car put on his blinker again and started to shift back over, the pavement ahead was suddenly no longer empty, and the headlights drew answering sparks. Deer. Calleigh's mind started to function again, racing ahead while the world continued to fall apart around her in slow motion. She applied the brakes as firmly as she dared, trying not to slide on the wet blacktop. The car ahead suddenly jolted sideways, and then its tangent and speed combined with the impact to spin it almost clear around, the tires hydroplaning. For one second, Calleigh and the other driver were nearly face to face above the headlights, and she saw the horror and apology in his features. She jerked the wheel right as he fought to regain control of the skid, both of them desperately trying to avoid the collision. They almost succeeded. The other car struck Calleigh's Jeep on the driver's side, just behind the driver's door, and the Jeep, caught with two wheels already off the pavement, rolled. One flip, two flips, and Calleigh reached back reflexively with her right arm toward Rosalind in the back seat, praying that the car seat was worth all the statistics the box had quoted at her. The Jeep finally came to rest off the road, upright but battered. The oblivious rain continued to pour down.

"Rosalind!" Calleigh fought her seatbelt as she twisted around. "Rosalind! Are you okay?" The car seat seemed to still be in place, but there was no answer. Calleigh hit the dome light, and it slowly, uncertainly lit up the interior. The car seat had held, and Rosalind was still securely in it, looking back at her mother with eyes wide with fear. Only fear, though. Calleigh could not see pain. She wrestled the seatbelt, finally managing to get the snap loose, and climbed over into the back seat, reaching for her daughter. "Are you okay?"

Rosalind blinked, and her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "Mama," came the tentative voice.

"I'm here." Calleigh undid the straps one by one, thanking each one silently as she released it. The car seat was worth every cent they had paid. She would have to send the manufacturer a note of thanks. She freed her daughter and carefully ran her hands over her. Nothing was bleeding. All limbs straight. No spot provoked a complaint. "Does anything hurt, Rosalind?"

Rosalind's eyes were still almost bigger than the face that held them. "No," she said after a moment. "Mama?"

Calleigh read the question mark correctly. "I'm not sure, Angel. It happened so fast." She knew that a group of deer had started that chain reaction, but she didn't think it would be the best idea to try to explain that to Rosalind at the moment. Telling her that Bambi had wrecked their car and lay broken and probably dead or at least injured in the road would hardly reassure her. She finished her inspection, then hugged Rosalind to her tightly. "It's okay, Angel. We're okay."

Rosalind pushed back a bit to study her mother carefully, and the eyes suddenly turned into Horatio's. "Mama, you okay?"

Calleigh took a minute for a quick mental inventory of self. A few minor aches, but nothing really hurt. "I'm fine. The seatbelts saved us."

And what about the other driver? Reassured about her daughter, she abruptly remembered him, the mixed horror and apology in that face. She looked around and spotted the shape of the other car at a distance on the dark rainscape. She tried to open the door and realized that the driver's side of the Jeep was horribly jammed. She doubted the front door would open; the back door certainly wouldn't. "Hold on, Rosalind. We're going to have to climb over the car seat and get out on the other side." She parked Rosalind in the middle of the back seat, scrambled over, and tried to open the door. It considered and declined. Calleigh flipped onto her back and gave it a firm kick with both feet, and it popped open. She turned back to collect her daughter, as well as a flashlight from under the seat, and started through the rain, snuggling Rosalind against her. She couldn't see the other driver outside, but his doors were probably jammed even worse than hers had been. His speed had been greater, and he had had two impacts at least, not just one. She played the flashlight over the windows as they approached, then suddenly froze.

Abruptly, she turned around, retreating to the Jeep, and thrust Rosalind back into the car seat. Rosalind started wiggling, becoming agitated for the first time as Calleigh buckled her back into place. "Mama!"

"It's okay, Rosalind." Calleigh schooled her voice to a reassuring croon. "You just wait here for me while I go check on the other man. You're fine. We'll get home to see Dada before much longer."

"Mama! NO!" Rosalind began to cry as Calleigh turned away and started once again for the other car, her hand fumbling for her cell phone as she hurried through the rain.

"911 emergency."

"This is Calleigh Caine, CSI. I need an ambulance out here right now. There's been a car wreck. One person badly injured." She gave the location, surprised herself on some distant level at how calm her voice was. She thought of asking for a helicopter but instantly realized that it couldn't fly in this weather.

"Paramedics are on the way, ma'am. Are you hurt yourself?" Rosalind was wailing in the background, and Calleigh pressed the phone more tightly to her ear.

"No, I'm fine. Could you contact Lieutenant Horatio Caine for me? Tell him I'm not hurt, but I need him out here. My car isn't drivable."

"I'll do it right now, ma'am. Do you want someone to stay on the line with you?"

"No, just hurry. Please." Calleigh snapped the phone shut. "It's okay, Rosalind," she called over her shoulder as she reached the mangled car with the mangled man inside.

The blood had been the first thing she noticed about him earlier, even at a distance, and it was much worse now. His face was a mask of red, quick flowing currents visible in it. The car had hit a tree in its flips when it left the road. The driver's side window was shattered, and Calleigh removed her jacket and carefully reached through the remnants of glass, trying to wipe his face clear and find the source. She wasn't even sure where she should be holding pressure yet. Slowly, the cut revealed itself, a jagged gash on his forehead, blood pouring from it in a river. Far too much blood. He didn't seem to have an artery cut, but even for a head wound, this bleeding was excessive. She wadded the jacket up, pressing it tightly to his forehead, and he groaned and shifted slightly. The flashlight wedged under her elbow caught a metal gleam as he moved, and Calleigh spotted the bracelet around his wrist, with the snakes entwined around the staff. The caduceus, international symbol for medicine. She released one hand from the jacket long enough to catch his wrist and turn the silver plate over for whatever emergency information was vital enough that he wore it in plain sight at all times. I take anticoagulants. She returned both hands to the jacket, pressing tighter as her lips moved in a silent prayer. God, please, let them hurry.

The man groaned and shifted again, away from the pressure. His eyes opened slowly, sluggishly, and stared at her with a dazed expression from the mask of blood.

"Hold still," Calleigh admonished. "Help is on the way. You've got to stay still for now."

Panic dissolved the fog in his gaze. "Sarah," he croaked hoarsely.

"My name is Calleigh, Calleigh Caine. What's yours?" The jacket was quickly getting saturated. She shifted it and pressed more tightly.

"Sarah," he repeated. "Got . . .to. . . warn. . . her."

"Warn her about what?" The urgency in his voice gripped her. This man was bleeding to death here, and his concern was only for Sarah, whoever she was.

"Mistake. . . It was . . . a . . . mistake. . ." He sat up suddenly, his hands coming up to grip her arms, his eyes widening. "They'll kill . . . her." Abruptly, he slumped back into the seat, and the eyes fell closed.

"Hey, you've got to stay awake on me." Calleigh took one hand off the soaked jacket to find the carotid artery. The pulse was still there, but it felt weak, fast, and a bit fluttery beneath her fingers. He didn't stir. "Come on, where are you?" she scolded the paramedics. The only answer came from Rosalind, still crying in the Jeep. "I'm still here, Rosalind," Calleigh called. "It's okay." It was far from okay. Where was that ambulance? Where was Horatio? Where was the rest of the world? It might have just been their two cars alone on the planet tonight.

And who was Sarah?

After an eternity, the ambulance swirled up through the rain in a splash of red and blue lights, accompanied by two police cars. Paramedics and officers jumped out, and Calleigh stepped back gratefully as someone took over with pressure on the wound. "He has a bracelet that says he takes anticoagulants," she notified them.

A medic pulled her gently away. "Are you hurt yourself, ma'am?"

Calleigh stared at her bloody hands. "No. It's all his." Behind them, Rosalind's cries doubled. Another medic had gone down to the Jeep to check on her, and Rosalind never liked strangers. "My daughter's in the Jeep. I think she's just scared, though; I already checked her over. I buckled her back in so I could have both hands free – and so she wouldn't see him."

The medic nodded. "Good thinking. Here, let me wipe off the blood some, and then you can go to her. You'd scare her yourself right now." Quickly, she cleaned Calleigh's hands, then turned back to join the beehive of activity around the man as Calleigh rushed to the Jeep.

"Easy, now. Let me get a look at you." The medic at the Jeep had managed to get Rosalind unbuckled and was trying to examine her, but she was fighting him with surprising strength, trying to get free to go find her mama.

"Rosalind." Calleigh took her quickly, and the cries died down into sobs as Rosalind buried her face against her. "It's okay, Angel. I'm fine. I was just trying to help the other man until the people came."

The medic reached into the embrace, running his hands along the child's sides. "Here, let me sit down. That will make it easier." Calleigh sat on the edge of the seat, her back against the car seat, and held Rosalind in her lap. "Let the man look at you, Rosalind. He just wants to help. I checked her over earlier and didn't find anything." She was perfectly willing to get a second opinion on that, though.

Rosalind had just about stopped crying, although she was still clinging to Calleigh. She eyed the medic suspiciously as he examined her. "Rosalind? Is that your name? It's beautiful. How old are you, Rosalind?"

Rosalind stared at him silently, and Calleigh replied. "She's one and a half."

"Beautiful little girl. Let me know if anything hurts, okay, Rosalind? She was in the car seat during the wreck?" A mechanical whine came from the other car where the jaws of life were starting to chew their way to the man.

Calleigh nodded. "Strapped in tightly. It did its job."

"It sure did." His eyes swept over the battered Jeep for a second before returning to his patient. "I can't find anything wrong with her. Probably just scared. What about you, ma'am?"

"I'm fine. I was buckled in tightly, too."

The Hummer pulled up quickly on the side of the road, and suddenly, Horatio was there, naked fear in his eyes and his voice as he ran through the rain to the Jeep. "Calleigh! Rosalind!"

Rosalind, still sitting in Calleigh's lap, perked up. "Dada!"

Another few seconds, and he had them, his strong arms wrapped around them both. "Are you okay? Rosalind? Cal?" Fear retreated as they held each other, Rosalind buried between her parents and not objecting a bit for once.

After a minute, Calleigh trusted her voice again. "I'm fine, Horatio. I told the 911 operator to tell you I was okay."

"She did, but she didn't mention Rosalind, and you saying it doesn't necessarily mean much, Cal. She said she could hear a baby crying, too."

She squeezed him more tightly. "I'm sorry, Horatio. I should have told her to tell you Rosalind was okay, too. She was just scared. I had to leave her here when I went to help the other driver."

A police officer approached. "Ma'am? You were the other driver, right? Can you tell us what happened?" He didn't recognize Calleigh, and it was mutual, but she saw him stiffen slightly when his eyes landed on Horatio. The hug of frantic relief had been broken by now, but her husband still had one arm around Calleigh's shoulders, pulling her tightly against him, and his other hand stroked Rosalind's back soothingly. Rosalind still hadn't let go of her mother.

"The other car had just passed me, and some deer jumped out into the road. He hit them or they hit him, one or the other, just as he was changing lanes, and it knocked him into a spin back around to face me. I tried to take it into the ditch, but I wasn't quite fast enough, and he hit the Jeep. I don't know exactly what happened after that. We were rolling, and I couldn't keep track of him." Horatio shuddered and pulled her more tightly against him. "The other man, how is he?" She was hoping the greater skill of the medics would have more success at stopping the bleeding than she had had.

"Not good. They've almost got him free now, and they'll be taking him to the hospital."

"He was talking about someone named Sarah. Said to warn her that her life was in danger."

The officer shook his head dubiously. "He has a serious head injury, even aside from the anticoagulated state and the cut. He's totally unconscious now. He was probably delirious."

Calleigh's lip set stubbornly. "He didn't sound delirious. Just panicked, and not for himself."

"What is his name?" Horatio asked.

"Sam Carpenter. The address on his license is in Miami. We were about to send a unit there to see if anyone's home."

"I'll do it," Calleigh insisted. "I have to find Sarah. He was really concerned about her. Come on, Horatio." She started toward the Hummer parked on the side of the road.

Horatio's infinitely gentle yet strong touch stopped her. "Are you sure you're okay? Maybe we should go to the hospital, too."

"I'm fine, Horatio. One of the medics already checked over Rosalind, too. You didn't hear him; he was absolutely frantic. He really thinks someone's trying to kill Sarah. We need to at least try to pass the message along."

He studied her, reading the stance, the signals of her body, as well as her words. He knew that Calleigh was still caught up in dealing with the crisis, as she had been since the moment of the wreck, and hadn't really stopped to consider herself or process the accident yet. She didn't seem to be favoring anything, though, her shoulders were square, and her steps had been easy, just determined. She was pretty wet, but they both kept a change of clothes in the Hummer in case of especially messy crime scenes. He would see that she changed at some point. "Okay," he conceded. "But I'm driving. Just in case something hasn't caught up with you yet."

"Fine." Calleigh headed on toward the Hummer, still holding Rosalind.

Horatio turned to the officer, handing him a card. "We'll have our cell phones on, in case you need us. She'll come by the station tomorrow to sign the accident report, and I'll call a tow truck to come for the Jeep. What's that address you pulled from the license?"

The officer yielded, confronted with two personalities that were both stronger than his. "Here it is, Lieutenant Caine." He handed over a paper from his pocket quickly before the rain could assault it too badly, and Horatio tucked it securely into his own.

Up in the Hummer, Calleigh already had Rosalind buckled into the other car seat, glad that they had one for each vehicle. The one in the Jeep seemed undamaged, but she would want it thoroughly checked before they used it again. She slipped into the front seat, turning back to find Rosalind's eyes still absolutely fixed on her, not giving her a chance to disappear again. "It's alright, Angel. We've got an errand to do, and then we'll go home."

"Home," Rosalind repeated, but it was no longer a song. The music had been jolted out of her at the moment.

Horatio briskly entered the driver's seat and shut the door quickly against the rain. He looked over at his family, savoring their presence for a moment. They could have been killed tonight. He pushed the thought back with a quick prayer of gratitude and smiled at them as he started the engine. "All set? Let's go find Sarah."

(H/C)

Sarah shifted uneasily, her attention wandering. It had nothing to do with the fact that this was the eighteenth run at the same four measures of music; she, like everyone else in this group, loved the precision and detail work. The end result was worth every minute it took to get there. No, this was an undefined restlessness, one she had had through an afternoon of shopping and errands and now through the first part of rehearsal. She couldn't keep her mind on the music, and that was almost unheard of, especially heading into pre-concert week.

"No." Brian, their conductor, shook his head in frustration. "It's still not quite there. We have two different pronunciations of the vowel in the word when. Sing it with an eh in the middle; it comes across to the audience more clearly that way. Also, second basses, warm the tone up on the line 'when I think of you.' You're singing it as a lover, not as Count Dracula. Okay? Sing!" He snapped his hand down, and the choir started their nineteenth run at it, all but one member. Sarah missed the cue. It had been sudden, but no one else missed it, and they were all used to Brian's grasshopper abruptness by now. She should have been ready. His eyes found hers, holding them just long enough to make sure she realized the mistake, and she gave him a slight nod of apology. He didn't say anything, just kept conducting. Although he knew every voice in the group individually and could sort them effortlessly from each other, he never called anyone down by name for a mistake without giving them a chance to correct it anonymously first.

"Better. Once more, and I think we've got it. You had the vowel just right there." They launched into the twentieth run, and Brian kept going that time. The choir, happily escaping the four mastered measures, headed on for the conclusion.

At the back of the auditorium in the church they borrowed for rehearsals, the door opened. The choir, facing the doors, saw a long-haired and somewhat flustered woman hurry in, trailed by an equally flustered 5-year-old. The song ended, and Brian turned to see who had dared to be late to rehearsal. He already knew, actually. There was only one chair unfilled in the choir loft.

"Sorry, sorry." Kim set her purse down on an empty pew. "I waited almost an hour for the baby-sitter. Last time I use that one. I just left her a note finally and came on." She pulled several matchbox cars from her purse. "Matt, you play out here quietly. Remember, I can see you from up in the loft. I'm facing you. Disrupt this rehearsal, and you won't be sitting down tomorrow."

"Can I get on the floor? They make good tunnels." He waved a hand at the pews.

"Okay, but stay in the first few rows, where I can see you. Don't go to the back." She climbed the steps to the platform, dropping a final "sorry" as she passed Brian.

"Not a problem," he assured her. "Glad you could make it. Okay, choir, next . . . Oh, I almost forgot. We have a very important business matter to take care of tonight. I've been sorting through our library of music, and I found several illegal Xeroxed copies of pieces in the library. Most of it is legit, but we did have 13 illegally copied songs in the file cabinets. Now, in case any legal penalties ever arise from this crime committed, I'm sure, by other members of the choir years ago, I thought it would be a good idea if our group officers included an official jail officer, who would be the designated person to serve any prison sentences arising from any of this group's activities, past or present."

An alto voice rose over the approving murmur of the group. "I nominate Rick."

"Second!" called a tenor.

"All in favor?" Brian asked.

"AYE!" The chorus was thunderous.

"Rick, you are now official jail officer of the group. Thank you, as always, for your volunteer spirit."

"Speech," a soprano demanded, and several other voices took up the cry.

Rick still looked a bit startled, but he rose to the occasion. "I appreciate your confidence in my talents, and I accept the position with one request. Send fruitcake. With file blades, of course."

A cheer went up, and Brian gave them a few seconds before speaking again. "Next." Instantly, they were serious professionals again. Brian glanced at his folder of music, running a mental checklist of what hadn't been rehearsed yet. "Circle of Starlight." As the group found that piece in their folders, Brian stepped back from the conductor's stand, yielding it with a ceremonial bow to one of the tenors, an older man with hair more silver than gray who came forward out of the loft. Thomas Schaeffer, well-known musician and composer, had written Circle of Starlight as an anniversary gift for his wife, Lynella. The date of the upcoming concert happened to be their fiftieth anniversary, and that night, she would hear it for the first time as he conducted the premier with the group that he called the best choir he had ever been a part of.

Brian settled down on the front pew and tilted his head slightly, preparing to listen. Tom set the tempo, nodded to Joy, the pianist, and started the piece that he lovingly referred to as his swan song. His first piece that had been published had been written for his new bride, and now, fifty years later, life was coming full circle.

Brian closed his eyes, sifting through the harmonies. Music to him had always been a tapestry, a whole consisting of many parts, and he could trace each thread equally while still holding the overall pattern. It was this stunning gift that made him a brilliant conductor, in spite of his relative youth in a field that valued experience. To adjust each line, bring it into one seamless, matchless whole, each thread vital yet none sticking out, was a challenge he never tired of.

"And when life's landscape falls into shadows,

A circle of starlight serves as our sun,

Illuminating all that surrounds us,

And the horizon of love still remains."

The choir held the last note as Joy gave a final caress to the piano keys. Tom gave them the cut-off, then turned to Brian, silently asking the opinion of a man half his age.

Brian nodded. "Very nice. Just a few little tweaks, and it will be brilliant. On top of page four, the second altos need a little more force on their entrance. Top of five, one first tenor held the release just a second longer than everyone else; it's off on four, not four and a half. At the ending, be sure to keep the tone straight, everyone. It takes more air and control to sing softly than loudly. Tom wants the feeling at the end to be gentle strength and commitment, not, 'Oh, God, how much longer until I can breathe?'" A chuckle ran over the group, led by the composer himself. "Also, there's something not quite right on top of the last page. I think one of the second basses is thinking staccato instead of just a regular quick release. Not that you're singing it staccato, mind you, but I think someone is thinking it. Try that again."

Tom turned back to the group. "Top of the last page, everyone." He hadn't heard anything there the first time, but this time, he heard the difference, felt it. They all felt it. The river of the song flowed a little more smoothly. "You're right, Brian, that helped. Thanks." He stepped back from the conductor's stand, letting them all relax. "Thanks again, everybody. This means a lot to me, and I'm sure it will to Lynn. At the moment, it's driving her crazy that sixty other people get to open her present before she does, but she'll love it at the concert." He nodded to Brian and returned to his place, and Brian glanced at his watch.

"Four and a half minute break, everyone." He meant it, too, and the group fractured into quick-moving subgroups, some heading for the restrooms or water fountain, others for people they wanted to speak to. Seats were assigned in the choir by Brian so that everyone was between the two voices their voice would blend best with, so many people had their best friends in the group in a different area. Sarah quickly pushed down to the floor of the auditorium to catch Kim, who had gone down to check on her son. Fragments of conversation drifted out of other knots of people as she passed them.

"The kid didn't show up for his contest piece. Just didn't show up. Can you believe it? I work for weeks with him, and he says he just forgot."

"Love the new shoes, Joy. They remind me of Dorothy's ruby slippers in the Wizard of Oz."

"Unfortunately, it doesn't work. I clicked my heels together just this afternoon and repeated, 'There's no place like home,' but when I opened my eyes, I was still teaching junior high music."

Sarah finally reached her friend, stumbling over a toy car just as she got there. She caught herself on a pew and pushed the car back out of the aisle. "Lost one, Matt?"

"Thanks, Sarah." He grabbed it and vanished under the pew again, making engine noises.

Kim looked up from fishing through her purse for something. "You okay, Sarah? You look a bit worried."

"I'm not sure. I keep having this feeling that something's wrong."

"You mean like you've forgotten something?"

"No, with Sam. Or like he's worried. We have a connection, you know." Kim nodded. "It just doesn't feel right for some reason. I'm even having trouble focusing on the music, and that's crazy."

"Don't let Brian hear you say that."

"Brian already knows. He knows if your toe starts itching during a piece. The thing is, I can't decide what to do. Sam's out of town at a conference upstate. Am I supposed to just call up into the middle of his professional meeting and say, 'What's worrying you?'"

"Has he called you?"

"No, but my cell phone's run down. I just noticed it tonight."

"When does he get back?"

"Not until mid week. He'll be here for the concert, at least. But it's not like I feel like he's in danger or something. He just feels worried, getting stronger. Maybe it's something to do with his work. I mean, he's at a conference, after all."

Kim glanced at her watch. "Look, you know these three-hour rehearsals end really late. By the time you get home, he won't be still doing something with his colleagues, so you wouldn't be disrupting his business. Why don't you call his hotel then?"

A logical, definite solution to an ambiguous feeling. Sarah gave her a smile of gratitude. "I'll do that. Thanks, Kim."

"Okay," came Brian's call to the troops, and everybody hurried back to their seats. "The Awakening."

Sarah opened the piece, trying to focus. It was getting harder, if anything. The uneasiness was growing, not her uneasiness but his. What on earth were they discussing at that conference? She forced herself to pay attention to the music as Brian gave the downbeat.

The piano started with a minor chord repeated four times, then a pause, then four more times. Exactly, Sarah thought. Like something was wrong, but the audience would not know what yet. She was there right now. After the chord, the piano part started high, dreamy, almost ethereal, drawing the listeners in, wrapping them in gentle ropes of sound that would quickly become chains of restraint, leaving them helplessly trapped in the music by the time they realized it was a nightmare. Brilliant writing. Was this uneasiness the beginning of a nightmare? Had she just not realized it yet? The choir entered, and the nightmare progressed, agitation rising. The music became her uneasiness, and for the first time that night, she found herself totally wrapped up in a song. At the height of the nightmare, the chord returned, the same chord as the beginning, only in major key this time, not minor, and the relief of the awakening freed the piece. It was Sarah's favorite part, the triumph at the end, but she found herself still trapped back in the first part, the nightmare. Something was wrong.

And then, suddenly, sharply, she knew that something was wrong. Not just worry but danger, panic. She missed an entrance, and Brian caught her eye. It was her second major error of the rehearsal, and his look was concern as much as correction this time. Are you okay? he asked silently. She closed the music with sudden certainty. I have to go, she replied by look, and he nodded, accepting it and sending good wishes for whatever was wrong, knowing that anything that would draw her out of rehearsal was major. She slipped out of the loft, collecting her purse from its pew, ignoring the truck sounds from the playing child as she hurried out the door. She was okay, but Sam wasn't. She was sure of it. She would slip out, go down to the nearest convenience store, and call his hotel on her credit card. Even if he was upstate at a conference, he needed her right now. The door to the auditorium fell closed behind her fleeing steps, sealing off the music.

(H/C)

The Hummer sat in front of the house as Calleigh and Horatio waited for anyone to get home. Rosalind had fallen asleep long since, and Calleigh had changed into dry clothes. She and Horatio sat in the front seat, their hands touching, both of them needing the connection. For the first time in the last few hours, Calleigh had time to think. "It was so sudden, Horatio, but it was like it happened in slow motion, too. I was trying to do everything to avoid that crash, and I knew it wouldn't be enough."

He raised her hand to his lips, kissing it. "You couldn't have done anything differently, Cal. It was the deer that caused it."

"That's just the point, Horatio. I was absolutely powerless." She shivered, suddenly taken back to her childhood. "I hate being powerless."

"Come here." He pulled her across onto his lap, a bit of an awkward fit behind the wheel, but neither of them minded. He held her tightly, not with passion this time, just with love and reassurance. They stayed there entwined in silence until headlights came down the street and turned into the driveway. The driver didn't even notice the large vehicle parked at the curb. She was out of her car almost before the engine was completely off, her heels clicking quickly toward the house.

"Ma'am?" Horatio extracted himself from the Hummer, and Calleigh climbed out of the driver's door after him, giving one glance back to make sure Rosalind was sound asleep.

The woman never turned around, fumbling with the keys at the door.

"Sarah?" Calleigh called.

That got her attention. She spun, startled to suddenly notice two strangers and a large vehicle in front of her house. "Who is it? I've got mace."

"Sarah, we're here about Sam," Horatio called. He came up within the circle of the porch light.

Sarah instantly accepted them, concern outweighing caution. "Is he okay? I spent forever trying to chase him down at that hotel from a pay phone."

Horatio closed the distance to come up on the porch with her. "Well, no, he's not. There's been a car accident. He's been taken to the hospital."

Sarah turned back to the door. "Let me grab a few things, and I'll drive upstate tonight. That's what I swung by here for anyway."

"He's at a hospital in Miami," Calleigh corrected.

"Miami? What's he doing in Miami? He's away at a conference for several more days."

"Well, he apparently was returning to Miami tonight. He ran into a group of deer and then ran into my wife shortly outside the city."

Sarah looked at Calleigh, eyes still stunned. "Are you all right? Is he all right? How bad is it?"

"I'm fine," Calleigh assured her. "He's in pretty bad shape, although we don't have all the details. He was bleeding . . . "

Sarah cut her off. "Oh, God. He takes Coumadin for atrial fibrillation. Even a little cut is a problem." She swallowed the bitter taste as an undefined fear was replaced with a well-known one. "I'll go down to the hospital now. Which hospital?"

Horatio gave her the information the medics had given, and as Sarah turned to retrieve her keys from the lock, Calleigh returned to the subject foremost in her mind.

"Sarah, Sam was conscious briefly after the accident, and he was trying to tell me something. He wanted to warn you. He said your life was in danger."

"That's crazy. Who would want to kill me?" Sarah dismissed it. She had reached shock saturation point tonight already; nothing additional would phase her. Her only concern was for Sam. Just as his had been for her, Calleigh thought.

Horatio recognized the futility of this tonight. She needed information on Sam's condition before they could really question her. At least, in a hospital, she would be surrounded by people and safe. "We'll drive you there, Sarah. And tomorrow, maybe we can talk some more about what he told Calleigh."

She nodded, stuffing her keys back into her purse and heading briskly for the Hummer. "I'm sure your husband will be fine," Calleigh soothed, although she didn't believe it even as she said it.

"Oh, he's not my husband," Sarah corrected. "He's my twin brother."

(H/C)

It was after midnight when Calleigh unlocked their own front door. Horatio carried Rosalind through to the nursery. She didn't wake up, even when he changed her diaper and put her sleeper on. "You want anything, Cal? Tea? Something to eat?"

She shook her head. "I just want to go to bed and have you hold me." She could still see the horror and apology mingled on Sam's face, could still feel the Jeep rolling. She needed the reality of Horatio's body next to hers to remind her that it was over. Once they were in bed, he pulled her tightly into his side, and they just lay there silently. Her body was quivering slightly, and he held her until the shivering stopped, his hand tracing her hair soothingly. Finally, much later, she fell asleep. Even then, Horatio was awake, a watchful sentinel in the darkness. He listened to her soft breathing, the reassuring rhythm of life, but it was a long time before he fell asleep himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Musical Notes: "Prelude to Peace" was composed by Z. Randall Stoope based on a poem by Sara Teasdale. One H/C fan who has the CD from that concert described the song as "pure serenity" and said it was her favorite to listen to after a hard day. It is indeed an auditory massage. The music is lyrical, flowing, passionate yet peaceful at the same time, with one of those deceptively quiet endings that takes intense control to sing well. Our conductor described it as an "iron lung" song, one of the difficult ones that should sound effortless when it's done right, but it paid back tenfold what it took in rehearsal. Every time the line "lover of beauty" comes around, the melody soars up, the passionate peak of the song, then snuggles back down musically to "I am at rest." Utterly beautiful. It will be mentioned again in this story.

(H/C)

"When I think of you, I am at rest.

My thoughts seek you, as waves that seek the shore.

Lover of beauty, knightliest and best,

When I think of you, I am at rest."

Prelude to Peace, Teasdale/Stoope

(H/C)

Calleigh opened her eyes and lay there for a few minutes, her mind slower than her eyelids to greet the day. Sunlight teased her, peeking around the corners of the drawn curtains, and the cry of birds carried on the breeze from the beach up to their house. Morning. Yes, it was morning.

Her first coherent thought was Horatio. She reached out behind her back with a hand, then rolled over to confirm the emptiness of the other side of the bed. Her second thought was Rosalind, but she couldn't hear a sound from the rest of the house. "Where is everybody?" she wondered aloud.

"Mrr-ooo?" Hope jumped onto the bed, delighted to have an awake human to serve her. Calleigh scratched her calico ears, and Hope's rumbling purr filled the room. Normally, Rosalind followed the cat like a second tail, but still, Calleigh could not hear her. Or him, either. She finally forced herself to look at the clock, and the last of the fog of sleep burned away instantly in the bright certainty of morning. It was 8:30, and she was late. Horatio must have turned off the clock and gone on to work without her, taking Rosalind by daycare on the way.

She resented that on some deep inner level as she quickly got dressed and went into the bathroom. The wreck was vividly recalled now, and she really wanted to see Rosalind this morning, to spend their morning rituals together, to remind herself that her family was still intact. She needed to wake up to normalcy today. She needed to wake up to Horatio. Besides which, her Jeep was at the shop, probably totaled, and if Horatio had taken the Hummer, she had nothing to drive.

And if she had had transportation, she wasn't sure she would have wanted to drive it. Not this morning.

A new thought chilled her as she jerked a comb quickly through her hair. What if Horatio hadn't gone on to work? What if Rosalind had suddenly gotten sick in the night, injuries that had been hidden at the scene emerging later? What if he had taken their daughter to the ER? The comb snarled, and she actually growled at it as she yanked it free. Hope cringed and took refuge behind the shower curtain.

No, she told her reflection in the mirror. Get a grip on yourself, Calleigh. Horatio would have woken you up for that.

But not for breakfast, not for family time. Well, it couldn't be undone now, and she would see him soon enough at CSI. She decided to swing by daycare and see Rosalind for a minute, too, even if it cost her twice the cab fee. She shoved her feet into her shoes and marched the rest of the way down the hall to open their front door – then skidded to a startled halt. The Hummer sat there like a massive mechanical watchdog, guarding the driveway. So where was he? Where were they?

Logic reclaimed control from emotion, and she turned in calm certainty to face the other direction, the back of the house, where the huge sliding glass doors framed a postcard seascape. The sun had a good start on its journey across the sky and was no longer kissing the waves, but her own sun was rising, exactly on schedule. Horatio was all the way out on the beach, actually in the edge of the water, one arm stretched out as he pointed to sea, the other protectively encircling his daughter. For a moment, it seemed to Calleigh that he was summoning the tide, that the sheer force of his presence could magnetically draw the waves. They were rushing in now, lapping eagerly at his feet. Rosalind, sitting on his shoulders, reached up suddenly, straining to touch the sky, and Calleigh suddenly realized what they were watching so intently. The morning ballet of seagulls swooped and circled with almost military precision, calling to one another, shifting formation, then changing it again like a song changing key. They were dancing to the music of the morning, and Rosalind clutched for them helplessly, trying to hold the moment.

To hold the moment. Calleigh quickly went across to the desk, found the camera, and slid the door open just enough to avoid the glass glare in her shot. She focused and clicked, hoping that it would come out, but the frame in her mind was already clearly developed. Her family. They were real, they were healthy, and they had waited for her. Every time she thought she could not love them more, they made her.

Hanging the camera around her neck, Calleigh slipped out onto the deck and walked down to the beach, trying to sneak up on them. No chance. Horatio had turned before she was even a third of the way there, and Rosalind's protest died half spoken as her mother easily displaced the seagulls in her attention at the moment. "Mama! Morning, Mama!"

Calleigh broke into a jog through the sand, getting it in her shoes and not caring. "Good morning, Angel. Good morning, Handsome." She seized Horatio in a fierce hug, and his blue eyes looked a bit startled as they parted. "I thought you had left me," she explained.

Humor, apology, and promise equally shared his gaze. "Never." He lifted the hand that wore her wedding ring and kissed it.

"You know what I meant, Horatio."

"We wouldn't leave you this morning. I was just trying to let you get some sleep, so we went outside, but I knew you'd want to see Rosalind."

"And you," she added. Her eyes intently scanned her daughter. Rosalind had twisted back around, once again watching the birds. "Is she okay?" Calleigh asked softly.

Horatio nodded. "I gave her a bath. She hasn't got a bruise on her."

Calleigh breathed a quick prayer. "Thank God for car seats."

"And seat belts," Horatio replied. His eyes swept her as thoroughly as she had studied their daughter. "What about you, Cal? How do you feel this morning?"

"Oh, I'm fine."

He finished his survey. "Do I have to give you a bath, Calleigh?" he challenged.

She chuckled, caught. "Okay, I have a few stiff spots, but nothing serious. Worst is my shoulder, but it's not any more than after a strenuous workout. I reached back for Rosalind with my right hand as we were flipping." She shook her head. "She was out of reach, of course. Don't know what I was thinking."

Horatio captured her hand again, stroking her fingers with his long, sensitive ones. "You were thinking of our daughter. I'll give you a massage in a few minutes, try to work the kinks out for you."

"We've got to get to work, Horatio. It's late already."

"I spoke to your boss. He understands. Besides, I don't match dress code, so we already had a few things still to do before leaving, anyway." He was wearing beach shorts, sandals, and no shirt.

She returned his smile, admiring the way he looked in that outfit at the same time. No, he didn't need to wear that to CSI. Even knowing that he was married, some of the female lab techs would get distracted, and when he added his smile, they might have women DBs getting up off Alexx's table. "Have you two had breakfast yet?"

Rosalind instantly lost interest in the birds. "Breakfast! Breakfast now?"

Both of her parents laughed. "I gave her a toddler biscuit to fill in the gap, but I thought we'd wait for you." Calleigh gave him a quick hug, blinking back tears. He understood how much it meant this morning. How had she lived for so many years without this man? It had merely been an existence, not a life.

"Let's go then," he said briskly, covering the moment because he knew she didn't want to dwell on it right then. "Rosalind seems to be hungry, and I think I'm getting there myself."

Calleigh walked beside him back up to their house. "You should have gotten yourself a biscuit, Horatio."

He chuckled. "According to the age range on the box, I'm too old." She smacked him lightly but was secretly glad that he could joke so lightheartedly about his age. Not all that long ago, he hadn't been joking. Her eyes fell to his left leg, rereading the story that was written clearly in the scars. He noticed, of course, and caught her hand, squeezing it. "We're all right, Calleigh. All three of us are all right."

"I know," she said, eyes tearing up again. She blinked several times and shifted into business-like efficiency as they entered the house. "What do we want for breakfast? Eggs? Bacon? Pancakes?"

"Cake!" Rosalind voted.

Horatio lifted her from his shoulders, swooping her through the air like a bird on her journey down. "Not quite, Angel." She couldn't understand why birthday cakes came so seldom. "You do like pancakes, though."

"I'll mix up batter while you shower and change," Calleigh suggested, mentally arranging the schedule. "We do need to get to CSI. It seems like I've been away forever. What day is this, Horatio?"

He kissed her quickly. "Tuesday. And I guarantee, the ballistics lab is still there." He disappeared into the bathroom, and Calleigh fixed breakfast while Rosalind played around the kitchen floor with the cat. Normalcy. The memory of the night before faded.

Over breakfast, she said, "Horatio, we have a problem."

His eyes crinkled at her. "If we only have one, we're fortunate, indeed."

"Well, just one I'm talking about at the moment. I took the last of my vacation over the last 10 days, but you wound up having to cancel. So what are you going to do for a break?"

"Eat breakfast every morning with my wife and daughter," he replied.

"You need a vacation yourself."

"Calleigh, my whole life is a vacation these days. I'm fine. Besides, I don't want to take one alone."

"I didn't, either," she pointed out.

"Touché. That involved other people's plans, though. How are Peter and Becky, by the way?"

"Wonderful. She's charming but strong-willed, too, and he's so much more relaxed. It's amazing the difference love makes."

"You don't say." His head tilted slightly as he studied her.

"Back to vacations, before you changed the subject, if you don't take those days before the end of the year, Horatio, you'll lose them. That's why we fit enough time on this trip to drive up the East Coast in the first place, remember?"

He shrugged. "So I'll lose them. Over my years on the force, Cal, I think I've lost more than I've used anyway."

"They give you those days for a reason, Horatio."

He offered a compromise. "What if I take them one day at a time, here and there? Rosalind and I could spend time together. Not as good as all three of us, but she'd enjoy it."

"We'll see." Calleigh wasn't quite convinced. Beneath the real happiness, he looked just a bit stressed this morning to her expert eyes. Of course, his last week had held two full days of cross-examination, instead of the total break originally planned. "Did the verdict come in on that trial yet, by the way?"

"Yesterday. Guilty as charged. He'll get the death penalty." A serial killer of teenage girls was now off the streets permanently.

Calleigh smiled. "You got him," she told him, remembering the promise Horatio had made to those victims.

"We got him," he corrected. Rosalind started to squirm in her high chair. "All done, Angel?" He lifted her out, making it a roller-coaster ride as usual to the floor, and she laughed in delight.

"More, Dada! Again!"

For once, he turned her down. "Not right now, Angel. I need to give Mama a massage, and then we really do have to get on our way to the hospital."

The hospital. Not CSI first. Sarah. Sam's frantic message from last night suddenly crashed back into Calleigh's thoughts. Wrapped up in her own feelings and concern for Rosalind, she hadn't thought of it for the last hour since waking.

Horatio read the guilt in her features. "You've had plenty else to think about, Cal. Here, lie down on the couch." She sprawled stomach down, propping her chin on a pillow, and he skillfully began to explore her shoulder, looking for every twinge, gently releasing the cramped muscle. "Let me know if this hurts, okay, Cal?"

"Mmm. Feels wonderful. Horatio, do you think Sam was just delirious last night? Sarah didn't seem to have any clue."

"Sarah wasn't thinking straight, and no wonder. You were there, Cal. Did he seem delirious?"

She dodged mentally over the wreck to arrive at the aftermath. "No. I thought at first he thought I was Sarah, because that's the first thing he said, but then he seemed to be trying to give me the message for her. He didn't seem delirious, just badly hurt. And frantic, Horatio. He was bleeding all over the place, and he wasn't even thinking of himself."

Horatio nodded. "If he'd been delirious, it probably would have involved him somehow, or it would have been totally crazy, like giant rainbow spiders. What exactly did he say, Calleigh?"

"Sarah, first off. Then, he said he had to warn her, or someone at least had to warn her. Also that it was a mistake. Then, he said they'd kill her, and he passed out there."

"Never said what was a mistake?"

"No. But he really believed it, Horatio. He thought they would kill her. Whoever they are." She chewed her lip in frustration. Now that she had remembered the message, the urgency of it gripped her again.

"Hold your horses, Cal. We're almost done, and Sarah is safe enough at the hospital. I spoke to hospital security on the phone earlier, too. They aren't bodyguards, but they are keeping an eye on the ICU in their rounds."

Rosalind scampered down the hall with Hope bounding after her. "Horse? Horse?"

Calleigh laughed as she sat up. "False alarm, Angel. It's just an expression." Rosalind looked around the horseless room, then back at her parents hopefully. "No horse."

The child's shoulders slumped slightly, and then her chin came up. She squared her shoulders and turned back around to find her playmate again. "Hope? Kitty, kitty." She looked exactly like a miniature Calleigh going on after a disappointment, and Horatio smiled at the thought. He hated to break up the family time, but he had to.

"No time to play with the cat, Rosalind. We have to get going." Horatio scooped her up. "Is that better, Calleigh?"

"Much better. Thank you, Handsome."

"Anytime. I don't even charge by the hour." Rosalind, like a monkey, had swarmed up onto his shoulders again. He smiled at her, then moved over to the desk, gathering his badge and gun. Calleigh quickly followed suit, thinking that as much as vacations were nice, it felt good to put on the symbols of her job again and be heading out to try to help people, even if, like Sarah, they didn't know for certain yet that they needed it.

Calleigh tucked the diaper bag into the Hummer and was just going around to get in herself when Rosalind squealed sharply. The sound was so unlike her that Calleigh nearly spun out of her shoes turning around. Horatio had opened the back door and started to put Rosalind into the car seat, and she had locked both arms around his neck, fighting him and clinging to him at the same time. "No!" Horatio's eyes met Calleigh's in pure understanding over their squirming daughter's back.

"Get in, Cal," he said firmly. She wasn't sure what he was up to, but she trusted him. In fact, she was positive he could deal with this better than she could, when her own mind was still partly cringing at the memory. She opened the passenger's door and climbed into the Hummer, and Horatio backed away from the back seat and stepped into the open door at her side. "Okay, Rosalind, I need your help here. Come on, Angel. Help me out." His voice was irresistible. Rosalind slowly unburied her face from his chest and turned around, wondering what they were going to do.

Horatio wrapped one arm around his daughter securely and pulled the seatbelt down with the other hand. "We need to strap Mama in tightly, okay? That's what the straps are for, so she won't get hurt, even if bad things happen. She's strapped in every time, just like you." He ran slack into the seatbelt, then let it snap back up to the ceiling, then pulled it down again. "Can you help me, Angel? I've only got one hand here, and we have to buckle Mama in." He waited until Rosalind's hands were on the strap, then slowly pulled it across Calleigh's lap, finding the snap. "Now, we push, Rosalind. Come on, push hard! That's it." Rosalind, with more assistance than she realized from Horatio, pushed the end of the belt firmly into its catch. Horatio traced the belts across Calleigh's body and her lap. "There, now. She's all strapped in, nice and tight. She always straps in, so she'll stay there if anything happens. You just start watching us, and you'll see it. Actually, if we ever forget, you be sure to remind us, okay?" Rosalind's eyes were still large but were interested now, tracing the straps with a much younger version of her father's analytical look.

"Dada too?" she asked.

"Absolutely. I'll strap myself in tight just as soon as I get in the driver's seat. We can't go until we're all strapped in. You watch, and as soon as I get in, I'll buckle up." He closed Calleigh's door and stepped back to the car seat again. "You get in there, and I'll strap you in, just like Mama, just like me. That way, even if bad things happen, we'll all stay in our places, and we'll be fine. All of us, all strapped in. Okay, Angel?" He eased her into the seat and slowly started fixing the straps, one at a time, letting her watch. "Just like Mama. One more, now. There we go. Okay, Rosalind, you watch, and I'll strap in, too." He closed the door and went around the Hummer, his stride and whole bearing radiating normalcy. Rosalind never took her eyes off him. He climbed behind the wheel and ostentatiously pulled his own seatbelt down, bringing it around and snapping it into place with a firm click. "I'm all strapped in now. Calleigh?"

Calleigh patted her seatbelt. "All strapped in."

"Rosalind? You strapped in?"

Rosalind slowly traced the straps, then looked back at her parents. "Yes."

"Fine. Then we're all ready to go." Horatio started the engine and backed the Hummer out of the driveway. Calleigh gave him a silent look of mixed admiration and gratitude, and he gave her a reassuring smile in return. During the drive to daycare, he pointed out every seatbelt that was obvious in the cars at stoplights, and Rosalind's eyes clicked around the traffic, taking inventory. Calleigh stayed in the car as Horatio took Rosalind in, and she closed her eyes, leaning her head against the back of the seat. What had she done to her daughter?

"You okay?" Horatio's tone was worried as he slipped back into the driver's seat.

She nodded. "I'm fine, but I hope she is."

"She's young, Cal. Kids are resilient. She had a bad fright, but it will fade quickly. I doubt she'll even remember this when she's grown."

"She might surprise you." Calleigh shook her head. "It's odd, though. She didn't even seem to notice the car seat in the Hummer last night, and that was right after the wreck."

"You said she wasn't really agitated last night until you left her. That's what I think she remembers more, Cal, not just the wreck. She was too intent watching you last night to notice the seat, but this morning, she's afraid she'll be separated from you again and left in a car. That's partly why I made such a point about you being strapped in, too. She could see you weren't going anywhere."

Calleigh nodded slowly. "Did she mind being left at daycare?"

"No. That's something she's used to, though. She's just a little worried at the moment that she'll be left in a car strapped in alone, but she'll get over it quickly. Trust me, Calleigh. She'll be fine, even in a day or two. She's too loved to worry about being abandoned for long."

Calleigh closed her eyes again, savoring the words. Too loved to worry about being abandoned for long. So loved that the concept could never take firm root. Her daughter was having the childhood that she herself had never had, and Calleigh was caught up not in regret for herself but in gratitude for Rosalind. She and Horatio were doing it right. Their daughter was loved and knew it. She would be fine.

Horatio stopped at a light and reached across to touch her arm. "And Calleigh, there is absolutely nothing you could have done any differently or better than you did last night. You did a wonderful job of dealing with everything, from the wreck to Rosalind to Sam. I'm proud of you." Her soul warmed clear through on the words, chasing the shadows away. Yes, she, like her daughter, was finally too loved in life for mere circumstances and events to shake her long. They would be fine.

She opened her eyes. "Thank you, Horatio."

He lifted her left hand again to kiss the ring, as he had done on the beach that morning. "Thank you, Calleigh Caine. I'm feeling pretty loved myself these days." The car behind them honked impatiently, and they jumped apart, realizing that the light had turned green.

"End of touching moment," Calleigh sighed.

Horatio shook his head. "Touching moment just postponed. We'll finish it later." He pulled into the hospital parking lot. "Right now, let's go see about saving Sarah."

"If we just knew what we need to save her from."

He smiled at her. "You forget, we're professionals, Calleigh. We've put together puzzles with more missing pieces before. We can do this." His confidence was contagious, and Calleigh felt her own determination surging again. Whoever "they" were, they wouldn't get Sarah. She and Horatio were more than a match for them.

Hands lightly touching but steps briskly professional, they walked together across the parking lot to the hospital entrance.


	3. Chapter 3

Swan Song, Chapter 3

Musical Notes: Sing Me to Heaven was composed by Daniel Gawthrop. Until I met the Awakening, it was my favorite song about music, and it still is when I want something calmer and don't quite have the energy required to deal with the Awakening. Beautiful, peaceful, quietly poignant. Hey Nonny, Nonny is by Shakespeare, whose variety never ceases to amaze me. It was set to music by Carl Nygard, and the descriptive note at the beginning of the score says it all: "Playful blues." Serious foot-tapping song, and the piano part (with a pianist good enough to handle the difficulty and showman enough to ham it up) makes it a real cut-loose song and an audience favorite. It is pure fun for a choir but challenging enough to keep it interesting. I, at least, have my limits on mindless silliness and quickly get bored with it. Never got bored with Hey Nonny, Nonny. In every way, this song rocks. Dirait-On was composed by Morten Lauridsen to words by the famous poet Ranier Maria Rilke, who wrote a bit of French poetry in addition to his better-known German poetry. The words are a poem to a rose, describing its quintessential shape and beauty. The music almost draws rose petals itself. I think of it as a spiral song, all vocal parts tracing graceful lines as they circle and intersect each other. Like Prelude to Peace, the music would relax anyone at the end of the hardest day.

(H/C)

"In my heart's sequestered chambers

Lie truths stripped of poet's gloss.

Words alone are vain and vacant,

And my heart is mute.

In response to aching silence,

Memory summons half-heard voices,

And my soul finds primal eloquence

And wraps me in song."

"Sing Me to Heaven," Daniel Gawthrop

(H/C)

Sarah sat in the glass-encased room in the ICU, watching Sam. His face looked almost paler than the sheets, paler than the bandages that swathed his head. He was absolutely still.

A tap sounded at the door, and she turned to see Horatio and Calleigh. "Hello again," she said, getting up with difficulty. She had almost grown to the chair over the last several hours.

They came in, looking at Sam. "How is he?" Calleigh asked.

Sarah shook her head. "He's in a coma. They say there's a good chance of brain damage even if he wakes up."

Calleigh shivered, remembering her own long night beside a hospital bed. "He was bleeding inside the brain?"

"Yes. They think he hit his head on the steering wheel. Because of the Coumadin, everything was worse. They had to do an emergency reversal of the Coumadin and operate anyway, even though it raised the surgery risks. He would have died without surgery. The oozing still isn't totally under control. They've left a drain in, to keep pressure from building up again."

"You said he had atrial fibrillation." Horatio glanced at the heart monitor, which was active but anything but regular.

Sarah nodded. "He has a genetic heart defect that caused it. Since he's young and healthy otherwise, they just keep him on medicine to control the heart rate and on the anticoagulants to prevent clots. But of course, if he gets hurt, it complicates everything." She walked back to the bedside and touched her brother's arm. "He hasn't stirred once all night. I've been talking to him, but I can't even tell if he hears me."

"Keep believing that he does," Horatio urged her. "Sarah, have you thought any more about what Sam told Calleigh? That someone was trying to kill you?"

"Yes, and it's still crazy. There's no reason anyone would want to. He was probably just hurt and didn't know what he was saying."

"He was coming back from the conference early, you said," Calleigh reminded her. "When he passed me, he was definitely speeding. That was all before the wreck. Something made him come home early and made him want to get here as soon as he could."

Sarah jolted to a stop in her mental denials. "That's right. He shouldn't have been back yet." She looked from one to the other of them, and her tone was helpless, even if it wasn't quite as disbelieving. "Why would anyone want to kill me?"

Horatio was working out another train of thought. "I take it Sam didn't try to call you on your cell phone yesterday."

"It was run down. I had been out for the afternoon and didn't realize it until later. I forget to charge it sometimes."

"Did he call your house? Do you have an answering machine? Surely he would have at least tried to call before driving back several hours."

"I haven't checked the answering machine. I never even made it in the door all the way last night." She looked at the door, then back to Sam.

Calleigh stepped in. "Sarah, why don't we take you back to your house? We can check the answering machine, and you can pick up the charger for your cell phone. You might need it working. You need to pick up your car, too; you're stranded here. We drove you last night." Also, the break would do her good. There was a limit to the hours one could sit by a hospital bed alone.

"I don't want to leave him."

"Why don't we give the staff our cell phone numbers?" Horatio suggested. "They can call if there's any change at all, and you'll only be gone an hour or so. You need to get some things for yourself, Sarah."

Calleigh spoke up. "Sarah, he was frantic about this last night. He was concerned about you, just as concerned as you are now about him. Shouldn't you at least try to find out what had him so worried? It might be right there on the answering machine."

Sarah deflated suddenly, tiredness and worry overwhelming her. She didn't have the strength to argue. "Okay, but I'm coming straight back."

"Of course," Horatio agreed. He and Calleigh stepped outside to talk to the nurses while Sarah spent a few minutes explaining her absence in advance to Sam.

(H/C)

Sarah unlocked the door, and they all entered. "The answering machine is over here." She stared at the red blinking light for a second, then pushed it, almost afraid to hear the message.

Beep!

"Sarah, it's me. Are you there? Pick up if you're there. Sarah, this is important. Call me the second you get this message. I'll be on my cell; I'm coming home now."

Beep! "Message left at 4:37 p.m., October 11th. End of messages."

Calleigh struck her palm with her fist in frustration. "Why couldn't he be more specific?"

"It gives us a time to start tracking his movements backward from," Horatio pointed out. "Sarah, what was this conference?"

"I think the brochure is still around here somewhere." She started fishing through the paperwork in a moderately disorganized desk.

Calleigh noticed the row of pictures on the wall. The twins, obviously, and their parents. There was no picture after around age 10 for the twins that showed all four of them. "Did your parents die, Sarah?"

"Plane crash. We were staying with my grandparents while they went on vacation. Over 100 people were killed in that one. Grandma raised us, but she died just a few years ago." Sarah shook her head. "I can't lose him, too."

"You haven't yet," Horatio pointed out. "Sarah, is there anything at all that's happened in the last few weeks that's out of the ordinary?"

"No. Honestly, I'm trying, but I can't think of a single thing."

"It's okay," Horatio assured her. "You won't help us by making up things."

Calleigh noticed a birthday card on the desk and picked it up. "Your birthday was recently?"

"Our birthday. It was last Wednesday. We went out to eat."

Horatio tightened up imperceptibly. "What did he give you for a present?"

She smiled at the memory. "A necklace. Beautiful necklace, emeralds and diamonds in the shape of a heart. Not really expensive or top quality diamonds, of course, just little ones, but still, it was nice. Even with his employee discount, I worried that it was too much, but he said I was worth it." Tears welled up in her eyes, and she blinked them back.

"Employee discount," Horatio repeated. "What is his job, Sarah?"

"He works at a jewelry store. Hermann's Jewelry. He came to Miami four months ago, and he moved in with me. He's studying to be a gemologist. That's what the conference was about, actually. It's a jewelry conference. Ah, here it is." She offered Horatio a brochure advertising the conference, and he skimmed it.

"Was there anything odd about that necklace, Sarah?" Calleigh asked.

Sarah shook her head. "You're asking the wrong twin. He's the one with the knowledge. I only know what I think looks pretty, and this qualified."

"May we see it?" Horatio asked.

"Sure." She glanced at her watch as she headed for the bedroom. Her thoughts were already back at the hospital with Sam. She emerged a few minutes later holding an empty jewelry case and looking puzzled. "It isn't here."

Horatio's first thought was of robbery, but looking around the house, he couldn't believe it. The place was hardly pristine, but it did have some organization while being lived in, and nothing seemed to have been touched. "Sarah, does it look to you like anyone has been going through this house?"

She swept the room with a glance. "No way. I probably just put it down somewhere else. I'm not careless, but I do lose my car keys and such now and then."

"Do you remember when you last saw it?"

She thought. "Thursday. I wore it to work, and everybody admired it. I remember taking it off that night, though. Wait, I wore it shopping Saturday, too. I remember looking at things in a jewelry store and thinking I liked mine better. Look, I appreciate the concern, but I really need to get back to Sam."

"Do you mind if we have a look around the house for the necklace?"

"Not at all. Help yourselves." She switched back to guilt as she gathered up her purse. "Why didn't I have that phone charged? Oh, that reminds me, I need the recharger. That's probably why he drove back instead of leaving a longer message. He knew where I was going to be last night, and he knew I'd be in late. He could probably be home before I was, so he just came on and didn't explain himself." She fished the recharger out of the fourth drawer she looked in and stuffed it in her purse. "Where are my car keys? Did anybody see what happened to my keys?"

"In the door," Horatio supplied, and she extracted them from the lock. "Where were you until late last night, Sarah?"

"At choir rehearsal at the Lutheran church. Three-hour rehearsals every night this week. Sam knew that."

Calleigh blinked, doing the math. "Your church choir rehearses fifteen hours a week?"

"Oh, it's not a church choir. It's a professional group, kind of like the symphony. We just rehearse at a church because the performing arts center rent by the night is outrageous. The concerts are at the center. We usually only rehearse once a week, but we have a concert Saturday, and we always really pack it in the week before to put the final polish on the songs." She looked at the brochure in his hand. "I need to get back. I'm trying to help you, but Sam needs me, too. Is there anything else?"

"A few suggestions," Horatio stated. "We all agree now that your brother wasn't just delirious last night. The message confirms that. He may be wrong, but he thinks you're in danger. So watch your back, Sarah. Keep that cell phone with you and charged. Also, you said last night you had mace. Don't hesitate to use it." He handed her a card. "Call me anytime, day or night. I'll be talking to you further, anyway. We're going to try to track your brother's movements, and we're going to try to find that necklace. Do we have your permission to do that?" She nodded. "One more thing. I'd like a picture of your brother."

She pulled one off the wall. "Will I get it back?"

"Of course," he assured her. "Take care, Sarah." She handed him the picture and disappeared out the door, leaving it halfway open. Calleigh crossed to shut it, then looked back at Horatio and sighed.

He gave her a thin smile. "You're the woman, Cal. Where would you put your jewelry down without thinking about it?"

She shook her head. "Lord only knows for her. I put mine up in the case. Always. Good thing she doesn't work at CSI. Can you imagine her with evidence?"

Horatio grinned but then turned serious. "Come on, Cal. Let's find a necklace."

(H/C)

An hour later, Horatio and Calleigh, without the necklace, pulled into the police complex parking garage. Calleigh headed another direction, though. "I need to go sign my statement on that accident. I'll see you in a few minutes."

"See you then. We'll go to the jewelry store after I check on things here." Horatio headed up to CSI alone, looking for Eric and finding him in the main lab. "Eric, how's it going?"

Eric looked up from the jacket he was examining. "Pretty quiet so far today, H. I'm just working some more on trying to identify that John Doe we found dead last week on the beach."

"Well, I've got something else for you. Road trip."

"Where to?" Eric folded the jacket neatly and rebagged it.

"To a jewelry conference." Horatio handed him the brochure and the picture. "This is Sam Carpenter. He was attending this conference until yesterday afternoon. At around 4:37 p.m., he left unexpectedly and was dashing back to Miami believing that his sister was going to be killed. He's the one who was in the wreck with Calleigh." Eric nodded. Horatio had called him earlier that morning with the story of the night before. "I want you to go up to this hotel and convention center and ask questions. One thing: Do not bring his sister's name into it. Just in case he was the first to realize she was involved, and the criminals don't know it yet. He said there was a mistake, probably referring to her involvement. Your story is that he was in a wreck; you're trying to trace his movements prior. Watch the reactions you get. Okay?"

"Got it." Eric studied the brochure. "You realize how much of a drive that is?"

Horatio read his mind. "Sorry about any plans you had for tonight, but this is important."

"Um, H, what am I investigating? What's the crime that's been committed here?"

"Calleigh is worried," Horatio replied.

Eric nodded, instantly surrendering his date plans. "Right. I'm on it, H."

"Thanks, Eric. Keep me posted."

(H/C)

Calleigh and Horatio walked into Hermann's Jewelry an hour later. A thin, ferret-like man was flipping through paperwork with a worried frown that covered his whole face, forehead down to lips. "Mr. Hermann?" Horatio inquired.

The man jumped and spun like he expected to be attacked. His eyes widened at the sight of the badges and guns, and he got more tense, if anything. "Yes? May I help you?"

"We understand Sam Carpenter works for you."

"Yes, yes, that's right." The man's eyes darted back to the paperwork, his thoughts obviously elsewhere. "He's not here right now, though. He's at a conference."

"Actually, he's in the hospital. He was in a car accident last night."

"Is that so?" The man's hands were almost twitching. "Hope he gets better soon."

"Mr. Hermann, is anything wrong?"

"No, absolutely not, nothing at all. Why should there be?"

"You just seem a little nervous."

"I'm trying to quit smoking."

Calleigh, who was ambling around the store looking at displays and finding nothing that seemed unusual or illegal, had trouble keeping from laughing. No quitting smoker she'd ever seen would rival this man.

Horatio gave him a steady disbelieving look from the blue lasers, and Mr. Hermann became even more jittery, if possible. "Um, is there any way I can help you, officers? I appreciate being informed about Sam, of course."

"We understand he purchased a necklace on employee discount recently."

"Yes, yes, it was a gift for his sister. A few weeks ago, that was."

"A few weeks ago? Not last week?"

"No, a few weeks ago. He kept it here so she wouldn't see it. Probably took it home last week, but I was out all week on vacation."

The subject of the necklace didn't seem to be making him nervous, but something definitely was. "Are you sure there's nothing that's making you nervous, Mr. Hermann?"

"Nothing at all. Everything's fine. Thank you, officers. Now, I really need to get back to my paperwork. My other main assistant is rafting down the Colorado River this week, and I've been out for a week, you know. Things are a bit behind."

Horatio gave up for the moment. They would get nothing from this man right now. He offered his card. "If you think of anything you'd like to tell me, please give me a call, Mr. Hermann."

Hermann took the card and put it in his pocket. "Yes, yes, of course. I'll do that. Thank you." He was already back buried in the paperwork when the door jangled closed behind them.

Calleigh exhaled loudly. "Now that one knows something."

Horatio nodded. "We weren't making him nervous. He was already nervous when we walked in. He didn't seem at all concerned about the necklace, though."

"Maybe that's not involved. Maybe the mistake is somewhere else. Sarah probably just lost the necklace around the house and will find it in another week." They had looked thoroughly, but it wasn't like processing a murder scene. They had been trying to preserve Sarah's privacy and belongings. The violently dead had no privacy.

He unlocked the Hummer, and they got in. "Hopefully, Eric will find us something up at the conference. I did call Sarah again from the office. No change in Sam, and she promised me she'd be careful."

"Hope she means it," Calleigh fretted. She could still hear the urgency of that message.

Horatio touched her arm. "We can hardly put an officer on her as a bodyguard, Cal, not without a lot more proof than we've got. We'll just have to trust Eric." His cell phone rang at that moment. "Horatio."

"H, Speed. We've got a DB in a warehouse."

Horatio sighed, writing down the address. "We'll meet you there, Speed." He started the Hummer. "Sorry, Cal, but we've got to go to another case."

"Okay." She stared out the window at the traffic, not seeing it. She and Horatio had done all they could at the moment. Trust Eric.

(H/C)

Late that afternoon, Horatio stopped the Hummer in the parking lot of daycare. He slipped his seatbelt off but stayed put, and Calleigh glanced at him questioningly. "Go in and get her yourself, Cal, and then you two can buckle me back in."

The light dawned. "I'll have to be last at some point."

"Right. I really don't think it will be near as bad as this morning, though."

Calleigh hoped not. She went into daycare, and Rosalind saw her as soon as she came through the door. "Mama!" She ran up, and Calleigh swooped her into her arms.

"Did you have a good day, Angel?"

"Uh huh. With horses!"

"Horses?" Calleigh stood as the worker came up to them.

"We had a nature video today. It had horses. Lots of other animals, too."

"Horses," Rosalind insisted.

Calleigh set Rosalind down. "Can you help me out, Angel? Go get your bag, okay?" Rosalind trotted off, and Calleigh turned to the worker. "Did she seem alright today, Dana?"

"Just like herself. Horatio told us about the wreck, and we've kept an eye on her, but she doesn't show it. Are you okay yourself?"

"A few minor stiff spots, but not too bad." Rosalind came back to them, dragging her bag by the strap along the floor after her. "Ready to go home, Rosalind?"

"Go to Dada!" she countered, wanting to go wherever he was first.

"He's right outside waiting for us. Say goodbye, Rosalind."

"Bye, Dana."

"Goodbye, Rosalind. See you tomorrow." Rosalind was already pushing at the door, wanting to get out to Horatio, but it had a catch at adult height. Calleigh picked her up and opened the door.

Horatio had gotten out of the Hummer. "Hey, Angel. Have a good day?"

"Saw horses!" Rosalind said, squirming to reach him.

"Well, good. I'm glad you saw some." He hugged her, then handed her back to Calleigh and got into the Hummer. "We'd better all get buckled in."

Calleigh stepped up beside him. "Come on, Rosalind, let's get Dada strapped in." Rosalind reached up for the belt herself, and Calleigh helped her pull it down and buckle Horatio firmly into place. Rosalind seemed interested in the process, but the worry of that morning was absent. She did start to tense up when Calleigh tucked her into the car seat, though. Calleigh forced her tone to stay calm. "We've got to get you all strapped in, just like Dada. Then, I'll get buckled in." Rosalind was alert now, a bit worried, but she didn't fight. Her eyes tracked from her father to her mother as Calleigh fixed the straps. "There we go. Now, I need to do mine." She closed the back door and quickly got in the front seat and reached for her own seat belt, letting Rosalind see it and follow her movements. "There we are. All strapped in. Okay, Horatio, we're ready."

His smile warmed her. "So we are. Okay, Rosalind, let's go home."

Calleigh watched him as he easily maneuvered through the rush-hour traffic. His strong, competent hands gripped the wheel easily. If only every other driver on the road could be Horatio. Even then, though, there might be deer. There was no way to eliminate every possibility. She had always accepted that life wasn't safe, couldn't be completely safe if it were to be worthwhile, but she had never before been so conscious of taking her child with her into the danger. Horatio looked over at her and smiled, then glanced at Rosalind in the back seat as they stopped at a light.

Rosalind suddenly sat up as far as she could, pointing. "Mama, Dada! No straps!" They followed her arm to the car next to them, which contained two adults, one toddler, and a very frisky dog who darted from one seat to another, barking at traffic. Neither adult had a seat belt on, and no car seat was in sight.

"They should have, Angel. That's wrong," Calleigh replied. "Anything could happen." And how would those parents feel afterwards?

Rosalind sat back, secure in her parents' assessment. "That's wrong," she repeated.

Horatio smiled at his daughter. "You be sure to tell us if we forget. Okay?"

"Okay," she replied, looking around with interest at another car.

The light changed, and Horatio started forward, reaching for his cell phone but keeping both eyes on the road. "This is Lieutenant Caine," he said softly. "There's a red Honda Accord next to me that has no one buckled up, including a toddler who is not in a car seat." He gave the license and street, and within two minutes, a patrol car swooped up with authority behind them, lights flashing. The Accord pulled over.

"Thank you," Calleigh said. While she wondered how the parents would feel hypothetically, Horatio tried to make a difference now.

He nodded. "Maybe a ticket will give them a wake-up call. There is a child seat law in this state, and patrol officers have that lecture down really well. They see too many scenes to take it lightly."

"That's wrong," Rosalind agreed. She traced her own straps momentarily, then looked back at her parents. "Home soon?"

"Not too far," Calleigh replied. "Maybe Dada can play the piano for you while I cook."

Rosalind instantly brightened up, forgetting her seat belt survey. "Dada? Please?"

"Of course, Angel. I've missed playing for you the last week." He glanced over at Calleigh. "I've missed both of you."

Rosalind settled back, striking up a song as if last night had never happened. "Home! Home! Piano, Dada, home!"

(H/C)

Sarah slid the key into the lock and entered her house tentatively, as if it were the house of a stranger. There was no change in Sam's condition, but the hospital staff had finally kicked her out, stating firmly that they didn't need another patient. They would call with any update, but she wasn't to be allowed back into the ICU until tomorrow. She had left the hospital accompanied by strict instructions about food and sleep.

The trouble was, she wasn't hungry, and she didn't see how she would be able to sleep, not while her brother's life hung in limbo. She was exhausted, but the gulf between tiredness and sleepiness can be wide and deep in spots. Right now, it was a chasm.

Food. She did need to eat. She microwaved a dinner and wandered aimlessly around the house as she nibbled at it. She paused in front of the pictures, looking at the family she had had as a child. Only Sam was left. Sam.

Suddenly unable to stay there any longer with only fears and uncertainties for company, she put the three-quarters eaten dinner down on the counter, found her purse and keys, shoved her feet back in her shoes, and left. The door closed behind her with an echoing thud – the unmistakable thud of an empty house.

(H/C)

Calleigh came down the hall from the nursery. Horatio was in the kitchen, finishing washing the dishes. "Is she asleep?" he asked, drying his hands.

"Yes." Calleigh dropped onto the couch, feeling exhausted suddenly. "She does seem to be getting better about the seat, at least."

"She'll be fine," he assured her again. "How's the shoulder? Care to hire a masseuse for the next few minutes?"

She gave him a tired but grateful smile. "I'd love to. It is better than this morning, though." She stretched out on her stomach again, and Horatio set to work, his fingers kneading the stiffness and pain away.

"I had a call from the insurance company this afternoon while I was in my office."

"And?"

"The Jeep is totaled. They said they'd get us a check on the policy."

Calleigh tensed up slightly, undoing part of his work. "So we probably need to go car shopping this weekend."

"We do need two cars." The soothing motion of his fingers never ceased, and she started to relax again in spite of her thoughts. "I understand, Cal."

She sighed. "I know it wasn't my fault, or even Sam's, really. But I never thought so much about the responsibility of driving. You're taking people's lives into your hands, and they're taking yours. And one of those lives is my daughter's. Even if neither driver is at fault, things can still happen."

"And you still remember how it felt, being helpless."

"Exactly. But I do know we need another car, Horatio. I just think I'm going to take longer to forget this than Rosalind is."

"You can't forget it, Calleigh. It happened. But you will be strong enough to go on. It isn't weak to feel like this, and it does get better." He switched from her shoulder to working on the muscles along her neck. "When I was a kid, after my father was killed, I went through a stretch where I was afraid to even get into a car. Scared stiff. I never told anyone, but it was real." Calleigh abruptly remembered that Horatio, too, had been through a roll-over accident and a far worse one than she had been in. "They gave Mom some painkillers for me, because I had broken ribs, but the first night she didn't give me that, a few weeks after the wreck, I slipped out to the garage in the middle of the night. It wasn't the same car, of course. His car was beyond totaled. They had to tear it apart." His fingers shuddered for a second, then became steady again. "I sat in that car, just sat there, and felt nothing happening. I felt like the world's biggest coward, because I was old enough to know that every car I got in wasn't going to wreck, but I still had to make myself get in every time. That night, I just sat there for almost an hour, thinking and remembering, and then the driver's door opened, and Mom got in with me. I was expecting her to scold me for being up out of bed at 1:00 a.m., or tell me it was silly to sit in a parked car in the garage, or childish to be afraid, but she never said a word. She just reached across and held my hand, and we sat there without saying anything. I still remembered the wreck just as vividly, but I realized that I wasn't just being weak, and I realized that I wasn't alone." He gave her shoulder a final, loving stroke and sat back. "And it did get better, Cal. Not overnight, but it did. That doesn't mean I forgot."

She sat up and reached across to touch him. "Thank you, Horatio." He didn't think she was being weak, and she knew she wasn't alone. It did help.

"It'll be okay, Cal." He leaned over to kiss her, and the phone rang.

Calleigh instantly drew an imaginary gun – she had removed her real one first thing on arriving home. "Bang!" Horatio was laughing as he picked up the receiver.

"I'm not, um, interrupting something, am I, H?" It was Eric.

"Only briefly," Horatio replied. His voice became serious. "What have you found out so far, Eric?"

"Well, there's nothing odd I can pin down. I've found out which discussion he attended last, and there was nothing at all unusual about it. No one I've talked to remembers anything strange or remembers him mentioning something. They might be lying, but if so, they're really good at it. Nobody struck me wrong. He definitely left like a bat out of hell, though. One of the desk clerks at the hotel remembers him leaving, and she says he looked worried, to put it mildly. I got into his room, although the hotel had to call the sister for permission. All of his luggage is still here. It's like he left on the spur of the moment."

"Like he overhead something, maybe," Horatio mused. "In a hall? In the bar?"

"I'm working on it, but I'm not coming up with anything yet. Course, he could have been the only one who overheard it."

"Try to get a complete list of conference attendees, Eric. We'll see if there are any felons in there."

"It's a long shot, H. This whole thing is a long shot. There was one point about that room that I thought was strange. There was a picture on the nightstand, not framed, just a snapshot. I spoke to the housekeeper who did the room this morning, and she said it was in the middle of the floor. She thought he'd dropped it."

"A picture of what?"

"A necklace. Looks like diamonds and emeralds in a heart. It is a jewelry conference, though. Maybe he picked it up in the course of that."

Horatio had come to attention. "Send me a picture of that picture on the cell phone, Eric."

"You got it, H."

"And Eric?"

"Yes?"

"Nice work. Keep me posted."

Horatio hung up the phone and crossed to the desk, retrieving his cell phone and turning it on. "Nothing suspicious yet from anyone Eric's talked to, but he'll keep working on it. There was a picture of a necklace the housekeeper found on the floor of Sam's room. Eric's sending me a copy." The picture came up on the cell phone, and Calleigh pressed alongside him to look.

"That's it. Sarah's necklace."

"Tomorrow, we're having a better look through that house. That necklace has to be the key to this."

Calleigh sighed in frustration. "The key to what? Is it crystal meth or something instead of gems? No, Sam knows gems, and he would have looked at it thoroughly. He wouldn't give his sister a counterfeit for a present. It was a mistake, he said. But if the necklace is real, why would it be important enough to kill for?"

Horatio stared at the cell phone as if the answer would jump out of the pixels. "Unfortunately, we don't know that. Yet."

(H/C)

Joy leaned forward, fingers shifting into the keyboard almost as if she were digging more deeply into the piano to extract the last possible ounce of music. Every foot was tapping as she playfully danced through an interlude straight from a piano bar at its most lively, her expression and tone inviting the listeners to dance with her. The choir stood still with difficulty, but Brian gave in, doing an impromptu tap dance along the front of the choir with more exuberance than skill, like Snoopy. He was rarely still when conducting anyway – unless he was in a concert, and then, it was startling. Even caught up in the moment, he brought the women in precisely on cue.

"Men were deceivers ever,

One foot in sea and one on shore,

To one thing constant never.

Then sigh not so, but let them go. . ."

Brian's hands fell abruptly, deliberately letting the music collapse, and everyone flinched at the jagged wound in the sound. He paced back across to the music stand. "One of the altos took a catch breath in that line and still put the T on let. A misplaced consonant by one person stands out a mile. If you absolutely MUST breathe where a breath isn't scheduled, drop the consonants you enter and exit on."

"I'm sorry," replied an alto meekly, looking down.

"Ah, we have a confession. Confession is good for the soul." He smiled at her, never able to stay annoyed long. "I absolve you . . . this time. In the concert, though, we'll hold a firing squad immediately."

"Brian," Kim asked, "where are we supposed to breathe on pages 4 through 8?"

Brian flipped through the score on his music stand, then backed away from it. "You don't. Breathe at home."

"Thanks," Kim retorted.

"One other thing." Brian was suddenly serious again. "On stagger breathing, remember, you should never breathe at the same time the person on either side of you is breathing. It leaves too much of a hole in the tone. Plan your breaths. If a phrase is too long for you, get with your neighbors and plan it. Every single breath you take in a concert should be thought out in advance." He returned to his score and flipped it back a page. "Okay, Joy. From one bar before the entrance on the top of 4." He flashed her a quick smile. "Same bar we usually meet at." Joy, who was happily married, as was Brian, grinned back at him before starting.

The breathing was more satisfactory that time, and Brian beamed at them after the final cutoff. "They're really going to enjoy that one. You enjoy it, and that will come across. They'll be rushing down the aisles for autographs." He picked up the score, ready to close it. "Anything else on this one? Questions?"

"I have a suggestion," came a voice from the baritones. The choir instantly came to alert anticipation, like a cat that sees an enticing toy dangling just out of reach. Dan was the group clown, and by giving him the floor, Brian knew good and well what he would be getting into. Dan did wait for permission, though, leaving the decision up to their conductor.

Brian glanced at his watch, measuring time against progress, and stepped back, giving up the reins. "What's that, Dan?"

"Back at the very beginning --" there was a busy rustle of pages of music turning "--when the women enter a capella with that lugubrious wail before the real words start, they should all put the back of one hand to their foreheads dramatically. It would really add to the effect."

"How would we turn pages then?" asked a soprano.

The room was alive with merriment. "Let the men turn the pages for us!" "The men can hold the folders for us!"

A voice from the piano cut across the din. "I have a suggestion." Instantly, the room was quiet. Like E. F. Hutton, when Joy talked, people listened. "If you're looking for dramatic effect in the song, Dan, there's an even better one. At 'let them go,' the women should use their folders to knock the men clear off the risers."

Cheers and whistles rang out – from the ladies. Dan closed his folder. "I withdraw my suggestion," he said meekly.

Brian stepped back up to the conductor's stand. "Game, set, and match to Joy. Okay, choir." Instantly, on the last two words, they were serious again. "Dirait-On. I want to try something different with this one. It's really brilliant, excellent sound, and I hate to say anything –"

"But you will," a bass said.

Brian smiled briefly but didn't yield to joking this time. "There could be just a little bit more sensitivity between the parts, I think. It's not a real fault, more a feeling, but I think you could be better. So altos and basses switch parts, and tenors and sopranos switch parts. Sing it in whatever octave you need to." He set the tempo, and the song started, a bit rougher than usual, but he didn't care, sacrificing polish momentarily, not stopping them. Halfway through, in a brief interlude, he said, "Switch," and they returned to true parts. The difference leaped out. Everyone heard it, felt it as they sang on, and at the piano, Joy nodded. Brian smiled at them as the last chord faded. "Lovely. Beautiful sense of ensemble there. Remember that time." None of them were likely to forget it.

The door at the back of the auditorium opened, and Sarah slipped in. The choir noticed her so intently that Brian and Joy both turned. "Sarah. We weren't expecting you tonight." Brian seized her in a hug as she climbed to the platform.

"I know. The hospital kicked me out for the night, but I . . ." She released the hug and stepped back, addressing the group as a whole. "I'm not sure if I'll make the rest of this week or the concert, either. But I really need this tonight."

A murmur of understanding and sympathy went over the group, and Brian smiled at her. "Come whenever, and when you can't, we'll know why. Our thoughts and prayers are with you and Sam."

"Thank you." She slipped to her place. A few hands touched her arm on the way, but none of them prolonged it.

Brian put the piece next in line back, exchanging it for another. "Sing Me to Heaven." The choir pulled that one out, and the music started. Sarah felt it wrap around her soul like a blanket, thawing some of the chill. For the first time today, she started to relax.

"If you would comfort me, sing me a lullaby.

If you would win my heart, sing me a love song.

If you would mourn me and bring me to God,

Sing me a requiem. Sing me to heaven."

The music did not distract her, because she did not wish to be distracted. Instead, it perfectly expressed her. It was a higher language, framing what words alone could never completely convey, and the group was there with her, sharing it all. They understood, and she knew they understood, and they all poured out everything together in perfect harmonies.

"Touch in me grief and comfort,

Love and passion, pain and pleasure.

Sing me a lullaby, a love song, a requiem.

Love me, comfort me, bring me to God."

The worry remained, but the aloneness vanished.

(H/C)

Maria entered her house slowly, feet dragging as if lifting off the floor was too much effort so late in the day. She stumbled slightly and caught herself without noticing on a chair as she crossed the room. She was humming to herself, the swirling peacefulness of Dirait-On.

The light on the answering machine was blinking, and she considered ignoring it, hating to ruin the afterglow of the evening, then reluctantly hit the button. Bracing against the table, she kicked off her shoes.

"Two new messages."

Beep!

"It's me. Ain't got the alimony this check. Have to wait, 'kay?"

Maria switched songs, changing from humming to low singing as she listened. "Men were deceivers ever, one foot in sea and one on shore, to one thing constant never."

"And don't go calling that lawyer. You'll get it. Kids have to come first. You wouldn't know, since y'don't have any." The slight slur in his voice made it clear where his priorities were, and they weren't on the three children he had had since she kicked him out, each by a different mother.

Maria flinched slightly at the mention of her own lack, then pushed it away. "Then sigh not so, but let them go, and be you blithe and bonny, converting all your sounds of woe into hey, nonny, nonny."

"Course, if you'd get off your lazy butt and work, you wouldn't need alimony anyway. Don't see me getting by with no part-time job. Just a sponge." He hiccupped softly for emphasis. "Lazy sponge." Click.

Beep!

"Maria, this is Dr. Sullivan's office calling. We're just reminding you of your chemo treatment tomorrow at the hospital. You should be there at 10:00 a.m."

Beep!

The song trailed into silence, and the tiredness, the weight of the cancer that she was forced to drag around with her rushed back in to fill the void. For three blissful hours, she had completely forgotten. Now, she remembered, but even the knowledge was still cradled in the gently fading echo of music.

(H/C)

Lynella stared at Tom's piano. It was there, in the bench, waiting like a wrapped present left in plain sight. Her song. Circle of Starlight. Of course, he'd have a copy with him in his folder, but there had to be more than one around. He had had seventy copies made, one for everybody in the choir and several spares. Her hand came out to caress the edge of the bench, then pulled back. She had to play by the rules, after all.

She heard the car outside and stood up, ready for him. "Good rehearsal?" she asked after they kissed. She already could tell, actually, from his eyes. He was still high on the music, a potent drug with no hangover and no bad side-effects.

"Wonderful. I know you miss rehearsals, Lynn, but it's only for a few more days."

She wasn't a member of the group herself, not having the quality of voice required to audition, but she enjoyed going along, being part of something so important to him, soaking up the banter and marveling at the dedication. The three hours never seemed long. Brian even used her frequently as a test audience member, to tell if she couldn't understand every word from the back of the auditorium, for instance. "I know. I'm looking forward to Saturday. There will be other rehearsals to go to, but this concert is special."

"Once in a lifetime, for my once in a lifetime gal." He kissed her again, then put his music folder in the piano bench.

"Tom," she started, then hesitated.

"What is it?"

"Why do you call Circle your swan song? What makes you think it's the last one?"

He sat down on the couch and patted the cushion beside him, and she joined him, their bodies touching. "I'm not sure, Lynn. Not sure why, I mean. It just is. I've loved writing music all my life, but it just feels like my work is complete."

"You don't have to stop for me. I don't have to have the last one be for me. I'd rather have you happy."

He put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into him even closer. "I've never been so happy in my life. It isn't something I've decided for you, Lynn, but something that was already decided independent of me. It just feels like that chapter is finally coming to a close." His eyes were glowing as he looked at her. "It isn't sad at all. I can look back through everything, see how it's developed, how each led to the next one. I can enjoy it even more now, because the last chapter is there. I didn't choose it, Lynn, but everything has to end sometime. We can either regret it and pine for more that won't come, or we can appreciate the wholeness of what was." He kissed her. "And this is only part of my life. You are my life. I can't wait to see what comes next. We'll have each other, and I'll keep singing with the group. I'm not shutting music out. I just won't write any more, and I'm absolutely at peace with that."

She snuggled closer against him. "Then I am, too, as long as you're not going to regret it. And I'm going to love the song."

He chuckled slightly. "I wish my back wouldn't be toward you as I conduct it, but I was glad to take Brian up on the offer. I was afraid with me in the choir, facing you, I'd get distracted and make mistakes in the music."

"With the house lights out?"

"I'd find you in the dark, love." To prove the point, his hand came out to the lamp beside them, and the light winked out, leaving them together in the warm, shielding darkness.

(H/C)

Darkness blanketed the house. Hope lapped water quietly in the kitchen, then padded on cat feet down the hall. Soothing, even breathing reached her ears from both bedrooms. She turned into the master bedroom and jumped, landing weightlessly on the end of the bed. She tucked herself between their feet, rolled into a ball, and put one paw across her nose, purring herself softly into sleep.

RING!

The phone shattered the peacefulness, and Hope stood and hissed at it as Horatio reached out, automatically moving to answer it while still waking up. "Hello." Calleigh pushed herself up reluctantly on one elbow and stared at the clock. 4:00 a.m. She felt like hissing herself.

"H, sorry to wake you up." It was Chris, night shift supervisor at CSI. "Did you go by Hermann's Jewelry recently?"

"Today. I mean, yesterday. Why?"

"I found your card here while processing the store."

"Robbery?"

"And murder. The owner was shot, and the store is almost turned inside out."

"I'll be right there." Horatio switched the bedside lamp on and turned to Calleigh apologetically. "The jewelry store was robbed, and the owner is dead."

"Go on," she said. "Give me a call later."

He kissed her quickly. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He stood up and started to get dressed. Hope settled back down in a disgusted bundle and buried her head under a fold of the covers. Calleigh didn't get up, but she lay there following him with her ears after he switched off the light. He crossed the hall, stepped into Rosalind's room for a minute, went into the bathroom, then exited the house. From a distance, she heard the Hummer wake to life, and he was gone. The darkness and silence returned, but they were no longer peaceful. The house was tense, uneasy, waiting. Somewhere out there in the night, the undefined but obviously real enemy was stalking.


	4. Chapter 4

Swan Song Chapter 4

A/N: I am not at all knowledgeable about jewelry, but I do know a jewelry store owner who has been in the business for decades, and the info in that subplot of this story has the jewelry store owner seal of approval. He, of course, doesn't engage in criminal activity on the side, but any errors here are made in good faith and after efforts to avoid them.

A/N 2: Healing through music programs are real all over the country, and the effects of them are thoroughly proven.

Musical Notes: Not While I'm Around is by Stephen Sondheim and comes from the musical Sweeney Todd, a very strange musical that does, however, have beautiful music. There Will Be Rest is an a cappella piece, music by Frank Ticheli, words by Sara Teasdale. Poignant, hauntingly beautiful piece. Absolutely seamless sound; it should come across as if the choir never once throughout the piece takes a breath. As Brian would say, "Breathe at home."

(H/C)

"Nothing's gonna harm you,

Not while I'm around."

Not While I'm Around, Stephen Sondheim

(H/C)

Horatio pulled up to Hermann's Jewelry. It was a beehive of activity, the seeming chaos of a crime scene that, like a beehive, actually was a model of organization, each participant knowing his function in the whole. Horatio entered carefully, staying on the marked cleared path through the store that all officers walked on to keep the disturbance of any evidence to a minimum. Chris stood from behind the counter. "H. Glad you got here." He glanced quickly at his watch but did not say anything. Traffic was light at this hour, but his call to Horatio had been made a good 45 minutes previously. Delayed response to a call to action was totally unlike Horatio.

"I made a quick stop first." Horatio answered the unspoken thought. "There's a woman who might be involved in all this – as potential victim. I drove by her house and took a walk around it to make sure everything was okay. All peaceful, all doors and windows secure. They hadn't been there. It'll be light shortly, and I did ask for a squad car to take a drive down that street regularly on patrol until then."

"And you were here yesterday," Chris added. "So if you're ahead of the perps for once, tell me what's going on here."

"I'm not sure yet," Horatio replied. "The person who knows most about it is in a coma. He was in an accident with Calleigh Monday night and gave her some message about a mistake and his sister's life being in danger. He works here, and he'd given his sister a necklace for her birthday last week, so we came here yesterday to talk to the owner about the necklace. Whatever tipped the brother off happened at a jewelry conference upstate, so I thought the jewelry connection was the obvious starting point."

"What did the owner say?" Chris glanced back at the area behind the counter, even though the body had been removed already.

"He was terrified, too scared to be paying attention to us. The topic of the necklace didn't seem to bother him, but something certainly was." Horatio's eyes swept the jewelry store like radar. The cases and displays had been emptied out with everything swept impatiently onto the floor. Boxes behind the counter had been opened and turned upside down. CSIs were carefully fingerprinting the cases. "This isn't just robbery. Too much valuable is left. They were looking for something."

"And don't seem to have found it," Chris agreed.

Horatio nodded toward the security camera mounted by the door. "What does that tell us?"

Chris sighed. "Nothing."

"You mean the perps were masked?"

"No, I mean literally nothing. Mr. Hermann turned the cameras off himself. They weren't recording at all."

Horatio studied the door. "I suppose the alarm also wasn't set?"

"Right. He probably let them in. He was certainly expecting them. Look at this." Horatio walked carefully around the counter. "After he let them in, he came around here, in the back by the file cabinets. They had a discussion, and he was shot. The perps turned the store inside out after that."

Horatio eyed the paperwork strewn near where the body had been. "He was looking through paperwork when Calleigh and I arrived yesterday. Frantically looking through it."

"What kind of paperwork?"

"I didn't get a chance to inspect it closely, but it looked like packing lists." Horatio snapped on a pair of gloves and bent to study the paperwork more thoroughly. "These are packing lists. Has this been photographed yet?" Chris nodded, and Horatio picked the top sheet up and studied it. "I wonder if any of them are missing."

"There's one thing that we know is missing, H."

"What's that?"

Chris picked up a ledger book from one side. "He kept a handwritten log of pieces sold, as well as whatever computer records he had. Probably didn't trust the computer. Some older people don't."

"They can malfunction." Horatio looked at the computer, which had been smashed in frustration. "Did you print that? Might be a tool mark, too, from whatever smashed it." Chris gave him a wounded look. "Sorry, of course you did. What about the handwritten ledger, Chris?"

Chris flipped to the last page. "This one ends on the last day of September. Where's the next one?"

Horatio replaced his packing list carefully in the exact position he had taken it from. "Are there others before that?"

Chris nodded. "They each cover a quarter. First three quarters of this year are here; the fourth one is missing. This guy was obviously fanatical about written records. I can't see him letting it go for almost half a month."

"So let's see what we've got," Horatio mused. "The perps came to the store late. When was the camera turned off?"

"10:30 p.m."

"We need to be sure to look at the hours before that. It might tell us something about the owner's movements, if not the perps. The owner was here working late, looking for something and also expecting them. Let's say he was looking for the necklace Sam gave to Sarah. He had been gone all last week; whatever the mistake was probably happened then, when Sam and the other assistant were running the store. The perps came, and he let them in. He tried to explain that he didn't have the necklace here, and they didn't buy it, killed him, then turned the store upside down themselves looking for it. They downloaded the data from the computer, smashed it so no one could recover it or just out of frustration, took the new ledger book, and bolted. When was the crime reported?"

"2:00 a.m. An officer on patrol spotted the light in back. Once he got close enough to look, he saw the mess."

"No lights in front?"

"No. The perps must have turned them out themselves. So you think this necklace is what they're after?"

"Yes," said Horatio. "Although it didn't seem to bother the owner yesterday when we mentioned it. It was like he was looking for something else. In fact, he said Sam had bought the necklace a few weeks ago." His eyes sharpened up suddenly, and he reached again for the third-quarter ledger book, flipping back through the pages, quickly finding what he was after. "Emerald pendant, to Sam Carpenter, employee discount. September 25th."

"Then why didn't the perps care about that book?"

Horatio closed the book triumphantly. "Because it's a different necklace. The one Sam gave Sarah also had a few small diamonds. Hermann would have called it a diamond and emerald pendant. Also, it was in a heart, and I think that would have been mentioned. Those records are pretty descriptive. Like you said, Hermann was obsessive about written records. So Sam bought a necklace for his sister a few weeks ago, and then last week, some time before Wednesday night, they got another necklace in a shipment that he liked better. He exchanged them, no doubt noting that in the current volume of the ledger. That was the mistake. Since buying the first one hadn't been any issue at all, he figured no one would object to his buying another one instead. Sarah's birthday was last week, so he couldn't wait to ask Hermann, but I'm sure he would have mentioned it to Hermann when he saw him this week. Hermann wasn't here last week when the second necklace came in. There must have been something special about that necklace that Hermann knew, and it was supposed to be held until claimed by someone. It was the packing lists Hermann was going over when I saw him; he must not have expected that shipment yet. We need to check the phone records. He probably got a call shortly before I came yesterday that they would be by to pick up the necklace last night, and that started him looking through the packing lists. Any more time involved, and he would have already been through the ledger. But when Cal and I got here, he didn't react to the mention of the necklace because at that point he thought we were talking about the first one. Later, he must have found the note in the ledger that Sam took this one. Sam is in the hospital and couldn't be asked about it. Hermann must have tried to convince the perps that he needed more time to get it back, and they didn't believe it was missing."

Chris had been following this scenario like a well-written book. As Horatio came to a stop, Chris said, "Pretty good reasoning. So all we have to do now is get the necklace and analyze it to find out why it's important enough to kill for. Have you asked the sister for the necklace?"

Horatio's expression tightened. "Yes, I have. She lost it."

(H/C)

Calleigh finished combing her wet hair and looked at her watch. It was almost time to wake Rosalind up. She went into the kitchen to survey the options for breakfast and found herself distracted by the thought of Horatio. He hadn't had breakfast and no doubt wouldn't take time on the case. She should take him something. Horatio. How many years had she gone through her morning routines alone, wondering and even worrying about what he was doing apart from her, whether he was taking care of himself? Now she could do something about it. Horatio was hers, even when he was out on a case. She smiled, and Hope, sensing the mood, wound through her ankles and gave a short purr. "You've been fed," Calleigh told the cat. "It's our turn now."

As if her thoughts had summoned him, the door suddenly opened, and Horatio entered the house with smooth haste. Calleigh, quickly coming into the living room at the sound of the door, stared at him. "What are you doing here?"

He handed her the keys. "Bringing you the Hummer. The car seat is in it, and Rosalind isn't going one foot without a car seat. Chris is waiting now; I'll ride on with him to CSI and get started. I can pick up one of the general CSI Hummers. Got a bullet for you later; you'll have to see Alexx."

Calleigh hadn't even considered transportation yet this morning. She gave him a quick kiss. "How efficient of you. You've thought of everything – except breakfast."

Horatio glanced back toward the door. "Chris is waiting."

"He can wait another minute." She headed briskly for the kitchen, quickly pouring a bowl of cereal. Horatio unwillingly followed her. "Here. You can eat it on the way. Chris is driving, after all."

Horatio's expression changed at the mention of driving. "Sorry to leave you alone this morning, Cal, but I have no choice. If you have any trouble with Rosalind, call me, and I'll talk to her on the cell phone." He gave her a quick one-armed hug, careful not to spill the cereal. "I don't think you will, though. You can handle it."

Four simple words, but his confidence warmed her like sunlight. "Go on, Horatio. We'll manage."

He kissed her. "I love you."

"I love you, too. And I want to keep loving you for years, so make sure you eat." He gave her a crooked smile and left the house, leaving behind a room that still radiated with the love of his presence.

(H/C)

Sarah was just backing out of her driveway for the day when a CSI Hummer pulled up in front of the house with an insistent beep. She put the car back in park and reluctantly turned it off as Horatio approached the window. "Sarah, I'm glad I caught you."

"I was just on my way to the hospital."

"That's a great idea. Stay there and stay with people. Don't go off by yourself. I've already spoken to hospital security about your brother."

She stared at him, puzzled by the new urgency in his voice. "What's happened?"

"The owner of the jewelry store has been murdered. Sarah, I can't explain all of it, but I am sure now that these people are after that necklace. We have got to find it."

Her hands flexed on the steering wheel in frustration. "I've tried thinking where I saw it last. Sorry, but it's hard to think about anything except Sam. Someone has actually been murdered over it?"

"Yes. And you're probably on the list, too, once they get that far." His words were harsh, meant to frighten her into carefulness. "I think you're safe enough in the daylight, but stay around people. Tonight, I want you to spend the night at my house, not here."

She turned defiant on him, her lips tightening stubbornly. "This is my house. This is OUR house."

"It's just temporary. We'll have this cleared up in a day or two, but until we do, you are in danger, and we know they'll kill anyone in their way. You shouldn't be here alone tonight."

"I have a few friends I could stay with," she countered.

"Unless they are trained police officers, I wouldn't advise it." He leaned into the open driver's side window, touching her arm. "Sarah, listen to me. You are in danger, and I can only protect you if you let me. Besides, if Sam wakes up and finds you dead even after his warning, what is he going to think?"

She gave him a half smile. "If only Sam would wake up." She looked at her watch, or rather at her wrist where her watch should have been. "Forgot my watch. What time is it?"

"7:30," Horatio replied. "Please, Sarah, promise me you won't go anywhere alone. And that you'll stay with me tonight."

She capitulated, realizing that she wouldn't get out of the driveway until this man had the answer he wanted. "Okay. I promise. Now, I really have to get to the hospital."

Horatio backed away half a step but still held her with the force of his presence. "Two other things." Sarah sighed. "First, I would like to have a key to this house. I'm really going over it this time. Second, I want you to make a list today of every place you've been since Sam gave you the necklace. As thorough as you can be. Okay?"

Sarah removed her house key from the key ring. "Okay."

Horatio took the key and smiled at her. "Thank you. I'll be in touch."

She had no doubt about that. As she drove away, she still couldn't decide whether to be reassured or annoyed by this man's persistence. Her idea of the police had always been an officer at a traffic stop, not Horatio Caine. She still couldn't imagine why the necklace would be important enough to put her life in danger. Maybe Sam would wake up today to tell her. Sam. Her foot pushed down a little harder on the accelerator as she headed for the hospital.

(H/C)

You can handle it, Calleigh told herself. She left the house, holding Rosalind in one arm and the diaper bag and her purse in the other. She could feel the heat of the day already closing like a vise around the city. Even for South Florida, it was unseasonably hot for October. Monday night's rain had been the only relief. "Birds!" Rosalind said suddenly, pointing at some in a tree. Calleigh smiled. Her daughter never failed to notice birds.

"That's right. That red one is a cardinal, and the other is, well, a bird." She opened the back door of the Hummer and tossed the bag into the floorboard. "Okay, Angel, let's get you strapped in." Rosalind abruptly tensed up, looking around.

"Dada?"

"He's at work, Rosalind. I told you he had to go in early. You'll see him tonight." Calleigh settled her daughter in the car seat and tried not to anticipate a battle. There was no surer way to find herself in one.

Rosalind squirmed slightly, her little hand capturing the strap as Calleigh started to pull her arm through it. "Who did straps?"

"What?" It took Calleigh a minute to track the meaning. "Oh, you mean when Dada left. He did his own, Rosalind. I'm sure he got strapped in. You'd better watch, though, to make sure I do it right. Okay?" She slipped the second arm through and buckled the straps securely.

Rosalind still seemed a little uneasy, but she wasn't fighting. "Okay." Her eyes tracked her mother like a hawk as Calleigh rounded the vehicle and climbed into the driver's seat.

Calleigh made a show of putting the seatbelt on, letting Rosalind see every move. "There we go. Are we ready, Angel?"

"Yes." Rosalind relaxed now that her mother was firmly in the vehicle with her. Her eyes went to the tree with the birds, but they were gone. "Birds gone, Mama."

"Time we were gone, too. We need to get you to daycare." Calleigh stared at the key. Horatio's voice replayed in her mind: You can handle it. She slid the key smoothly into the ignition and turned it, and the Hummer woke obediently, bridled power waiting for her command. She put it in reverse, carefully looked up and down the street, and backed out of the driveway. With Rosalind alternately singing and chirping like a bird herself in the back seat, they headed into Miami for the day.

(H/C)

Alexx was crooning softly to the body on the table when Calleigh entered the autopsy bay. Alexx's motherly attention quickly shifted targets. "Are you doing better today, honey? How's the shoulder?"

"It's fine. Feels a lot better than yesterday. Horatio gives an amazing massage." She smiled at the memory, then quickly shifted to business. "He said you had a bullet for me. Jewelry store owner."

"In just a few minutes. I'm still extracting it." Alexx returned to her task. "Whatever you knew, we'll find it out. Would have been easier to talk while you were alive," she scolded the body softly.

Calleigh grinned. "How many of them ever listen to you, Alexx?"

"That's no reason to stop trying. If it was, half the parents in America would quit." Alexx glanced up at Calleigh for a minute. "Is there any change in that man at the hospital?"

"Not yet. I called this morning to ask."

Alexx shook her head. "Coumadin does so much good for people, but it can sure complicate things when they get hurt."

"Alexx, why would he be taking it, anyway? Sarah said he had atrial fibrillation."

"You know what that is, don't you?"

"It's a rhythm disturbance in the heartbeat. I just don't see the connection between that and anticoagulants."

Alexx's hands never stopped their careful progress toward the bullet. "With atrial fibrillation, the atrium doesn't contract right. There isn't a strong electrical signal for the beat as usual; instead, there are a lot of weaker signals from many points. It makes the whole chamber quiver instead of one good contraction at each beat. Think of a river, Calleigh. When the current is strong and even, it travels right along, and the water is clear. Now think of a river with an uneven current, where it's strong in places but hardly moving at all in others, especially around the edges."

Calleigh nodded, suddenly seeing it. "The water goes stagnant where the current doesn't reach."

"Exactly. The heart chambers never totally empty out, but normally, blood moves pretty efficiently through them. In atrial fibrillation, there are some areas in the atrium where the blood is hardly being moved at all. The beat doesn't effectively pump out the heart. So the blood in those areas can start to clot, and when a clot does finally shift, it can be deadly. If it hits the lungs as a pulmonary embolus, that can kill. If it makes it into one of the coronary arteries later, that can cause a heart attack, and a clot in the brain creates a stroke. So when someone is in atrial fibrillation and can't be brought out of it, they put them on anticoagulants to keep the blood from clotting around the edges of the atrium."

"Why couldn't they bring him out of it?"

"Lots of reasons. Sometimes people can't tolerate the drugs to convert to a normal rhythm, or the drugs just don't work for them. Electrical cardioversion can only be done so many times, and it doesn't always work, either. Pacemakers are expensive and wear out regularly. If someone is young and otherwise healthy, a lot of times, they just put them on anticoagulation. He'd be taking a rate-controlling drug, too. Atrial fibrillation can get up over 200 beats per minute. Keep the rate down, and a lot of the symptoms will disappear. With it controlled, he probably led a fairly normal life."

"But he's not on Coumadin now. They reversed it for surgery, Sarah said. So isn't he at risk for a clot now?"

Alexx sighed. "There are other drugs they can use intravenously that are a bit safer, but I doubt they would with an intracranial bleed. He's got bigger worries right now than a blood clot. Ah, here we go." She pulled the bullet out triumphantly with forceps. "Little thing to be so deadly, isn't it?"

Calleigh held out the evidence bottle, and Alexx dropped it in. "Looks like a 9 mil."

"One shot to the heart. They knew what they were doing."

Calleigh tossed her hair back. "So do we." They both smiled at the echo of Horatio in her voice. "Alexx, do you think Sam has any chance of waking up without any effects and just remembering everything?"

Alexx gave her a smile. "As long as he's alive, there's always a chance."

But not a very big one, Calleigh mentally filled in the blank. She thanked Alexx and headed for Ballistics, still remembering the urgency in Sam's voice as he passed on the warning. Horatio was out there now, searching the house for the necklace, and he had already left her a message that Sarah would be staying with them tonight. They could do nothing for Sam right now, but Sarah was in good hands.

(H/C)

Tyler stared at the video screen so intently that he never heard Horatio's approach, and he jumped when his boss spoke just behind him. "What have we got?"

"He was a basket case. Going through the paperwork dozens of times, pacing back and forth, then looking through the papers again like it would change. He switched off the camera himself, like Chris said."

"What about the phone records from the store?"

Tyler pulled a printout over. "There was one incoming call about 15 minutes before you got there yesterday. It leads back to a hotel."

Horatio followed Tyler's finger on the printout. "The same hotel and convention center where the jewelry conference is."

"Right. This isn't a room, though. One of their lobby phones."

Horatio gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Nice work, Tyler. Is Speed working on those prints?"

"And grumbling about it. They're all jumbled. People always have to touch a clear case to look at what's inside, and this man obviously hadn't cleaned them that day. The perps probably wore gloves anyway."

"Probably," Horatio agreed. "I'll have Eric fax a list of the conference attendees, and I want you to start background checks. Speed can help you when he gets done with the prints. Eric is coming back tonight, and tomorrow morning, we'll have that picture he found to process. We know a perp touched that and probably without gloves. Keep me posted."

"Right, H." Tyler turned, but Horatio was already gone, as soundlessly as he had entered.

(H/C)

"So there's no sign of the necklace," Calleigh said.

"None. I'd swear it isn't in that house."

"That only leaves Miami."

Horatio grinned at her tone. "Oh, come on, Cal, we can narrow it down to at least half of Miami."

"We'd better narrow it down further than that. The bullet isn't leading us anywhere. Not in the database."

Horatio pulled the Hummer up to an apartment building. "Let's hope we get something here." This was where the other assistant at the jewelry store lived. Horatio had called without much hope, having already been told that he was rafting down the Colorado River this week. To his surprise, his wife had answered, and they were on their way now to see if she remembered anything odd about last week.

The woman who opened the apartment door was small, Hispanic, and tired, with a weariness that went beyond temporary fatigue to her state of life in general. "Mrs. Delgado?" Horatio asked silkily.

She nodded and swung the door wide, letting them in. "Paulo isn't here."

"I realize that, but we were hoping you might be able to help us." He smiled at her. "He's on vacation, right? I would have expected you to go along."

"He took our son. We were hoping the trip would be good for him. Just time with his father."

Calleigh glanced at a picture on the wall. The faces told everything. Tired mother, worried but uncomprehending father, and rebellious young adolescent. Horatio's eyes followed hers, and his head tilted as he weighed Paulo Delgado's face. The expression reminded him of a few employees he had known over the years. Steady, reliable, but not very intelligent and without initiative. They had never lasted long at CSI. His mind was already recasting the case. This was a man who, unlike Sam, would take orders without questioning or thinking about them, even if he didn't understand why. "Mrs. Delgado, we're interested in anything unusual that happened last week, while Mr. Hermann was on vacation. Your husband was in charge of the store last week, right? Sam had only been there four months."

She nodded. "Sam was new. Yes, Paulo did everything."

"Did he mention anything unusual?"

She shook her head. "He didn't talk about his work with me."

Horatio switched tactics. Asking her a general question would get nowhere. "Did he tell you anything out of the ordinary on Monday night? Try to think back." She shook her head. "Tuesday? Wednesday?" The countdown stopped there. Sam had given Sarah the necklace Wednesday night. It had to have come on one of those three days.

Mrs. Delgado's head came up slightly at the mention of Wednesday. "Was there something Wednesday night, Mrs. Delgado?" Horatio's voice was gentle but persistent. Calleigh had melted into the background. Horatio obviously had the better chance at getting information from this woman; Calleigh was already getting impatient with her just listening.

"Not at the store."

"What, then? With your son?"

She chewed her lip for a minute, then nodded. "Luis was in a fight at school. They called Paulo to come down to the school."

Horatio was careful to keep his voice steady. "And he left the store to go there?" She nodded. "How long was he gone, Mrs. Delgado?"

"All afternoon. When he and Luis came home, he was angry. He almost canceled the trip, but we thought it might help."

Horatio and Calleigh looked at each other. Sam, the new employee, had been alone in the store half the day Wednesday. "Do you know if a shipment of jewelry came in Wednesday morning?"

She shrugged. "He didn't say. He didn't discuss work with me."

Horatio recognized the end of the road. He handed her a card. "Mrs. Delgado, when you hear from your husband, as soon as he can get to a phone, have him call me. Okay? Thank you."

Outside in the Hummer, Calleigh turned to face him. "The necklace had to come in Wednesday. You think there was something that Paulo knew about the shipments that Sam didn't?"

"Yes. Obviously, Hermann wasn't new to whatever he was doing. My guess, he was assisting smuggling or money laundering or something, but he was just a middle man, in way over his head. We're working on getting his financial records. But this was probably a repeated scenario, where things would come in that he would hold for someone to pick up. Hardly every day, but I'm sure it had happened before. That thing about turning off the cameras sounds like a routine. I imagine he told Paulo something like, any package that has the H in Hermann's Jewelry underlined is personal, and if you ever see that, you put it aside to be dealt with by me. Paulo would have just accepted that. Hermann never would have thought that Sam would be processing a shipment in alone, although Sam had probably helped with it enough by now that when Paulo left, he told him to just finish. Paulo would have been preoccupied with his son then. He wouldn't have thought of looking at the rest of the packages before he left."

Calleigh sighed. "Seems that everybody in this case is either dead or in a coma or rafting down the Colorado River. Why can't we actually talk to somebody?"

Horatio smiled at her. "You're forgetting Sarah. We can talk to Sarah all evening. She's staying with us, after all."

"Lot of good that will do," Calleigh protested. "She doesn't know anything." She stared out the window at the passing traffic for a minute, then shifted her thoughts to a more productive channel. "Horatio?"

"Mmm hmm?"

"What kind of car do you think we should look at when we go car shopping this weekend?"

(H/C)

Sarah sat by Sam's bed and alternated between wracking her brain and kicking herself mentally. The list for Horatio was on her lap, a complete list of where she had been, or as complete as she could make it. She had probably forgotten something. Just like she had forgotten to charge the cell phone before going shopping and then to rehearsal Monday. Just like she had forgotten her watch this morning. Just like she had lost the necklace.

All her life, she had been absentminded. It was a family joke, something Sam would tease her gently about, but it had never mattered until now. If he had been able to reach her on the cell Monday, he wouldn't have been driving frantically through the rain. He wouldn't have been in an accident. He wouldn't have been lying here in the ICU.

"What was the mistake?" she asked him. "Was it me not charging the cell phone? Or did you do something yourself?" She doubted it. He had his faults, but he was the organized one. Their mother had once joked that they would together make one perfect person. He was everything she was not, and vice versa.

Sam didn't respond. He hadn't responded yet to anything she had done. She touched his hand lightly, careful of the IV, and resumed thinking of where she had been. What was she forgetting?

After almost two complete days sitting here, yesterday and today, the sounds of the ICU had sorted themselves out to her. She had always been sensitive to sound, unconsciously noting the auditory signature of any place. The footsteps of each of the nurses by now were distinct and familiar. The hushed voices of relatives and friends of the other patients came and went. To her left was a teenager who had been in some sort of accident herself and had multiple fractures and internal injuries. She was awake and did not want to be, for being awake only meant pain, yet there was no sleep without the haziness of the drugs, and she fought that as well. Sarah had listened for two days as she lay there, trying to be brave, yet the grunt at every slight shift in the bed, the quiet sniffling in the brief moments when her mother had left spoke volumes. Even the drugged sleep was restless. What she really wanted was to have her life back, for things to be normal again. Sarah ached with empathy.

In the cubicle to her right was a man. No one had come to see him. Only the nurses entered his space, and his sullen response to their ministrations almost made it seem their fault that he was where he was. There were others, too, cubicles all around the circumference of the ICU, but those two were the ones she heard constantly. Her neighbors in calamity, she thought of them. And there were the nurses, all of whom she knew by name now. To deal with this every day, all day, even with the patients who were ungrateful and resisting, to see many of them fail and die after you had shared in their battle – no pay on earth would alone be sufficient compensation for this job.

Sarah admired them, but she only wanted out of here. She spoke to Sam again, a soft promise. "I'm not leaving without you. I'll be here every day, as long as it takes." He didn't respond.

A hesitant tap against the open door of Sam's cubicle startled her, and she turned. "Maria. What are you doing here?"

Maria edged into the room with the step of somebody who knew hospitals far too well and hated them. "I had a treatment today, and I thought I'd come down to check on you afterwards. How is he?"

Sarah sighed. "No change. He just lies there."

"What about your job? Do they mind you being here?"

Sarah gave a half smile that quickly died. "I took this whole week off as vacation. Can you believe that? This is a vacation." She looked back at the hospital bed. She had taken the time off originally to make it easier on herself because it was pre concert week, knowing how tired she was by the end of the week with those nightly rehearsals. It never hit her during rehearsal, but afterwards, especially by Friday, she was dead on her feet. Singing was far more strenuous than most people imagined.

Maria came over and wrapped her in a hug as response, saying nothing. Sarah gave her a watery smile as they finally split apart. "Thanks."

"Come to rehearsal tonight if you can. It'll do you good. I know it's kept me sane through the rough weeks."

Sarah nodded. "I was planning on it. They'll probably chase me out again anyway. The nurses won't let me sit here 24 hours a day."

"He's not alone. They're right here, even at night."

"I know." Sarah looked back at Sam. "I don't think he even knows when I'm here anyway. I've done everything, Maria. Talked to him, lectured him, pleaded with him. He doesn't respond to anything. He just lies there."

"Have you tried singing to him?"

Sarah looked startled. "In the hospital? I'd disturb the others."

Maria shook her head. "Remember the healing through music program? Several people in the choir are in it. They go through hospitals regularly singing, and it's amazing. People's pain levels go down, people fighting to breathe get air more easily. They've seen some incredible things. You've heard them talk. No one complains."

Sarah glanced around. "But we're in the ICU."

Maria grinned at her. "I wouldn't recommend Hey Nonny, Nonny. Seriously, they sing through the ICU, too. Gentle songs. Everyone rests a little easier. Maybe Sam would hear you if you sing."

Sarah remembered the stories, now that she thought about it. And God only knew how many times music had salvaged one of her days, rehearsal totally turning it around. There were even times she had felt that she was starting to get sick, had been to a rehearsal that night, and three hours later, had felt totally cured, and the cure stayed with her through the following days. Healing through music.

Maria gave her arm a squeeze and then started softly, her other arm propping herself up against the doorframe because her legs were getting shaky beneath her, but her voice was strong.

"There will be rest and sure stars shining

Over the rooftops crowned with snow."

Sarah joined in, second soprano meshing with first alto in perfect harmony.

"A reign of rest, serene forgetting,

The music of stillness, holy and low."

The sounds of the ICU hushed as they sang, voices fading into surprised and then appreciative silence. They finished the song and looked around startled to find an audience. Heads of relatives and friends were sticking out of cubicles; the nurses had stopped their rounds just to stand for a minute. In the cubicle to the left, the teenaged girl's mother stood in the door smiling at them. Sarah listened for a grumble from the cubicle to the right but heard none. She turned quickly to look back at Sam, and her spirits fell again. He lay there silent, pale, and still. Nothing had changed.

Maria squeezed her arm again. "Keep trying, Sarah. I've got to go rest a few hours, but I'll see you tonight."

"Thank you. See you then." Sarah didn't turn away from Sam. It hadn't worked. Why couldn't he hear her? He had always enjoyed hearing her sing.

A hand touched her shoulder softly, and she turned to see the mother of the girl to the left. "Thank you so much," the mother said. "Come here. Look at this." Sarah followed her into the next cubicle and stopped in the door, afraid to fracture the moment. The girl was asleep. Not drugged to unconsciousness, but simply asleep, the lines of pain smoothed out of her face, her breathing deep and easy. "You sang her to sleep," the mother said. "She hasn't been able to just sleep since the accident. Thank you." She hugged Sarah tightly, and Sarah hugged her back, suddenly feeling a little better for having helped someone. But why couldn't she have helped Sam?

(H/C)

"Right here," Horatio directed, and Sarah swung the car into the driveway of the house. "I'll open the garage. I want your car inside tonight." He hopped out to open the garage door as Calleigh swung the Hummer into the driveway behind them. Sarah pulled her car on into the garage and got out. Horatio didn't open the house, though. "Hang on a second. Before we go in, we're searching this car. Give me a hand here, Cal." Calleigh, having freed Rosalind from her seat, came into the garage, pulling the door down behind them.

Rosalind ran to Horatio. She had been quite alertly keeping an eye on him all the way home while he was riding in that strange car ahead of them. "Dada!"

He swooped her up and held her for a minute. "I'm fine, Rosalind. I was right in front of you."

"She knew it, too. I don't think she took her eyes off that car," Calleigh commented. She went to the passenger's side. "I'll take this side, Horatio."

"Fine. I'll take the other." He set Rosalind back down. "Stand there for a minute and watch us, okay, Angel?"

Right, Sarah thought. Telling a child that age to just stand still and let something else be the focus of attention. Rosalind surprised her, though. As Horatio and Calleigh searched the car with professional thoroughness, Rosalind was rooted to the spot, her head slightly tilted, watching them with interest. With her silky blonde hair, she looked like a little cherub, but the eyes were startlingly adult at the moment. Sarah thought it would have been more appropriate to hand her a microscope than a doll.

Her parents finished searching the car in under ten minutes, turning up several things from under the seats but none of them a necklace. "Find it, Dada?" Rosalind asked as Horatio shut the car door.

He picked her up again. "No, I didn't, Angel. We'll find it before long, though."

Calleigh was unlocking the door from the garage into the house. "Let's find it after we eat. You two have to get going to the rehearsal."

"I still think it's ridiculous for you to have to come, too," Sarah protested as they entered the house.

"It will probably take me three hours to look all around that church auditorium. It's a place you've been, Sarah. You might have dropped it there." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Besides, I like music. Trust me, I won't be bored."

Actually, the idea of rehearsal being considered boring hadn't even occurred to her. "I mean, you've got your family and your life here. I could get a ride home with someone, and I'll be with a group. Nothing's going to happen to me at rehearsal."

"That's right, it's not," Horatio said firmly. Sarah sighed. "The bathroom is down the hall to the right, guest room first door to the left." He took Rosalind back into the nursery as Calleigh started preparations in the kitchen.

Sarah wandered across the living room, then turned, drawn magnetically by the piano. She ran an appreciative hand over the polished wood. "Do you play?"

"Horatio does. I don't," Calleigh told her.

"This is a beautiful piano. It's pretty old, isn't it? I'll bet it has a neat history." Sarah ran a scale up and down, testing the feel of the keys.

"Piano!" Rosalind called firmly. She trotted back down the hall to the living room with Horatio in pursuit. "Dada's piano. No!" she scolded.

"It's okay," Horatio laughed, picking his daughter up. "I don't mind people who appreciate it."

"Dada's piano," Rosalind insisted.

Sarah laughed herself as she backed away from the keys, and for the first time, she felt at ease with the Caine family.

(H/C)

Horatio's first action on arriving at the church, after seeing Sarah safely into the auditorium and the group, was to hunt up the custodian. "Nope, haven't seen a necklace," the old man replied. "We've got a lost and found, though. I'll keep an eye out."

"How many people are through here in the week?"

"Well, tonight's Wednesday, so there's activities. Church members are in the chapel this week, because the choir is in the auditorium. So a couple of hundred people tonight, besides the group. Other than Wednesday, it's pretty quiet, 'specially late at night. Hardly anyone around. I have to stay to lock up, but outside of maybe the pastor or somebody, I won't see a soul outside of the choir. Course, they aren't usually here all week, just Tuesdays, normally."

"Has the auditorium been thoroughly cleaned since Monday night? Vacuumed and such?"

The custodian shook his head. "I do it Friday nights, usually. That way, everything's fresh for Sunday morning."

"Thank you. I'll just have a look around the auditorium myself during rehearsal."

"Hope you find it." The custodian settled back in his chair in the break room and picked up a book.

Horatio slipped into the auditorium from the back and started systematically working down one side, getting all the way down to the carpet level, scanning the whole floor, including under each pew. If the choir spotted him, they gave no sign. Sarah had said she would explain his presence, as well as asking if anyone had seen her necklace.

The speed and efficiency of his search never altered, but as he worked, Horatio found himself caught up in the music. This group was beyond good. He wondered if he could still buy tickets for Saturday's concert for all three of them. Rosalind would love this.

The music stopped as Horatio came around the aisle, switching to the next row down, and he looked up to see the conductor heading across toward the thermostat on the wall. "Is it just me, or is anyone else in here hot?"

"I like to think so," a soprano replied instantly, and the entire group dissolved into howls of laughter. Horatio was grinning to himself as he continued his hunt. The merriment continued for a few minutes, then stopped, almost as if on cue.

When he rounded the next aisle, dropping down a row, he noticed that a silver-haired man had taken over the conducting, and as the next piece started, the words leaped out to Horatio, reminding him instantly and strongly of Calleigh.

"When the sun rises to shine on our love . . ."

Horatio paused in his search to listen all the way through that one, down to the ending.

"And the horizon of love still remains."

Perfect, he thought. Absolutely perfect. Someone in love had written that. He abruptly recalled his mission and continued scouting, still keeping his ears on the music while his eyes were on the floor.

At one point, the choir went on a brief break, and when Horatio came back to the aisle that time, the conductor was waiting there for him. Horatio stood up, expecting a question about his search, but the man surprised him. "You noticed my choir." It wasn't a question; Brian couldn't conceive of anyone not noticing them. Nor was he taking personal credit for their success. Instead, the gleam in his eyes reminded Horatio of a child at Christmas, staring at the perfect toy and unable to quite accept that it really was his.

"Yes, I noticed them," Horatio replied.

Brian instantly went analytical. "I'm missing my usual test audience person. How was the balance? Could you understand the words? Any general impressions?"

Horatio was fascinated. He had only run into the combination of hyperactive technical perfectionist a few times in his life, but this was obviously a prime specimen of it. "The balance was perfect. I was especially impressed on the crescendos and decrescendos. It was like turning volume up and down on a stereo, everyone absolutely aligned, like one voice of eight parts. No loose ends sticking out. The sections balance out well; you could always track each one. No part overpowered; no part faded. The enunciation was very well done. Every word carried, even to the back. It was marvelous."

Brian relaxed. "Thank you." He spun abruptly, raising his voice. "Choir. Come on back. Miles to sing before we sleep." As if he were the Pied Piper, the group came to him, gathering again on the platform, all eyes focused. Horatio caught Sarah's expression. The worry lines were still there to some extent, but the absolute, intense focus dominated. The music started, and he could clearly see her concentration, feel her physical effort, and be warmed by her smile. To be able to do this with a group of 60 other people who all cared just as much about it as she did was a gift. He completely understood why she would look forward to three hours of this every night approaching a concert.

He dropped to his knees again and entered the next pew, continuing the search. His eyes missed nothing, and there were a few items he found, the flotsam and jetsam that remains in any place after a large group of people has vacated it, but nothing even started to resemble an emerald and diamond necklace. It wasn't there. Horatio hissed sharply under his breath in frustration. "Where is that thing?" The music continued, but it held no answers.


	5. Chapter 5

Swan Song Chapter 5. A short update, but it is an update, and things are really about to start happening. If the soundtrack to this story were Jaws (composed by John Williams) instead of the Awakening, the music would have the definite drive by now, not just the opening distant threat.

(H/C)

"I have remembered beauty in the night,

And music in the dark,

And running water singing on rocks.

In English wood, I once heard a lark.

I have remembered.

But all remembered beauty is no more

Than a vague prelude to the thought of you."

Prelude to Peace, Teasdale/Stoope

(H/C)

Lynella pulled into her driveway, noting Tom's car already there. Her car easily fit into the gap alongside it. She had never intended to be gone so long, had only slipped out to the store for a few things she'd discovered she was out of, but the trip had taken on a defiant agenda of its own, as such trips sometimes do, seizing control of her schedule and wrestling it away from her. She sighed in frustration, then smiled at the sudden thought of what her own parents would have made of 24-hour grocery stores.

So many changes in her lifetime. Born in the Great Depression, now living in the technology age. Sometimes she was stunned at how much she had seen, at how much even she took the conveniences for granted now. Like tonight, getting annoyed because a trip to the store had delayed her an extra 45 minutes.

Looking at Tom's car, she admitted that it wasn't the delay that irritated her but missing his homecoming. For almost 50 years, with all the changes, their love had been the constant, never old. She still loved to greet him at the door.

She slipped out of her car and paused as the tantalizing whisper of music filled the night. Tom was playing the piano very softly and singing to himself, and he must not have noted the car's arrival. Otherwise, he would have been at the door by now himself. But the windows of the house were open to the hot October night, and the music drifted out to wrap around her in the warm, embracing darkness. What song was that? Gentle, lyrical, yet intense, filled with quiet passion. She had never heard this one before. Was this Circle of Starlight?

Unable to resist, she eased the car door closed with infinite care, letting no sound escape but a soft click, leaving her groceries in their rustling plastic bags in the floorboard on the passenger's side. She tiptoed up the sidewalk, clinging to the shadows. The music went straight to her soul, but he was singing softly, almost a croon, and she couldn't quite make out the words. She pressed herself up against the door, as if her ear could push the barrier out of the way and enter alone, leaving the rest of her outside unnoticed, but still, only a few words drifted out, only one clearly. Love. She closed her eyes, listening in the darkness to his music, treasuring the moment even while it taunted her. Love.

Suddenly, the music shifted in mid chord, no less lyrical but building in volume through the line, and Tom was no longer singing half voice. Her ears, her mind, and her heart caught every word. "But all remembered beauty is no more than a vague prelude to the thought of you." On the last word, the chord suddenly hit dissonance, then resolved – or clearly should have resolved. Instead, he held the tension, his voice in a tug-of-war against the piano, the piano in a tug-of-war against itself, the musical equivalent of fingernails on a blackboard.

Lynella fumbled for the doorknob and almost fell into the house. "Okay, okay, I'm here, you win. Now quit that, Tom!"

He instantly resolved the chord, perfect harmony erasing the previous tension. With a laugh, he spun around on the piano bench to face her. "Sorry. Couldn't resist it when I realized you were out there listening. Tried to sneak up on me, did you? What if the neighbors had called the police?"

"They were probably about to, to report a musical crime. What song was that, Tom?"

"That? Prelude to Peace. One of the ones from the concert Saturday."

"No, the first one, before you switched. Was that Circle of Starlight?"

His eyes twinkled. "Was I playing two songs?"

Lynella gave a sigh of mock irritation. "Well, if you won't tell me, I'll just have to listen more closely at the door next time."

"Just three more days, Lynn. This is Wednesday night. You'll hear it at the concert. Actually, you'll hear it best at the concert. I can only sing one part myself, but the choir brings it to full life. Didn't you buy anything at the store?"

She suddenly remembered the groceries. "In the car. It's hard to sneak up on someone with a handful of plastic grocery bags. Go make yourself useful, Tom."

He stood, but his path to the door made a tangent to her. She returned the embrace, feeling the strength still in him, even in his 70s. "I missed you," she said against his chest. "How did you know I'd gone to the store? I didn't leave a note. Didn't think I'd be gone that long."

"Empty milk jug in the trash. I went looking for clues." He smiled at her. "I missed you, too." With a final, quick kiss, he headed out the door to the car, leaving Lynella standing in the middle of her living room looking at the piano but seeing only him, hearing only one word, not diluted by any barrier but as clear as the stars in the sky out in the country, far from the interference of any artificial light. Love.

(H/C)

Horatio sat on the couch in the dark, Calleigh snuggled against him. She could feel the relaxed alertness in every line of him tonight, and she suddenly thought of him with a gun, the ready stance, the calm voice, the authority in his eyes and hands. They had bought a security system for the house a few years before after someone broke in to steal evidence to frame Horatio for the murder of his ex-wife. The system was turned on and doublechecked tonight, but her greater faith was in Horatio. No criminals would touch this house or Sarah tonight. Horatio wouldn't let them.

He sighed softly, bringing her mind back to their conversation. "I'll call around to every place on Sarah's list tomorrow and see if anyone's found that necklace, but somehow I doubt it. I really hoped it would be at choir rehearsal tonight." His arm around her shoulders tightened, while his other hand smoothed the paper on the list Sarah had neatly recopied for him from her day's jottings. A list of everywhere she remembered being since a week ago. A list that was much too short.

"You think it's somewhere she hasn't thought of yet? Or do you think someone else stole it?" She kept her voice pitched low. Sarah was asleep in the guest room, and Rosalind was asleep in the nursery at the end of the hall.

His soft chuckle warmed the darkness. "That's all we need, Cal. Another set of criminals operating here. We've got too much mystery already. No, I think it's somewhere she hasn't thought of yet."

"Eric will be processing the picture tomorrow morning. Maybe that will tell us something."

"Maybe it will." They fell into silence again. Calleigh leaned against him, feeling the steady, strong rhythm of his breathing, and her mind slowly let go of the case, the tension of this week, and settled into pure appreciation of him. Sometimes, just holding each other quietly was enough.

"Horatio?"

"Mmm hmm?"

"Are you planning to sleep here on the couch tonight?"

He shook his head, the motion unseen but felt in the darkness. "The alarm is set, and when we're asleep, I'd rather be closer to Rosalind than this." His tone sharpened a bit protectively on his daughter's name. "I'm really not expecting anything to happen tonight. If anyone followed us here either from the hospital or from choir, they're very good at it, and Sarah's car is hidden in the garage. I'll leave my gun on the nightstand tonight, though, not locked in the desk. Just in case."

Calleigh yawned suddenly, surprising herself. "Like Sarah said a while ago, I didn't see how I could ever get sleepy tonight, but I am."

"So am I, a little." She suddenly remembered that he had been out on the case since 4:00 that morning. She stood up so suddenly she surprised him.

"Come on, Horatio. Lie down on the couch, and this time, I'll give you a massage."

He stretched out obediently. "You sure your shoulder is okay?"

"I'm fine, Horatio. Much better." She started working the tension from his neck and shoulders. She had to find it, first; he had been hiding his own fatigue and worry in the midst of being strong for everyone else. Her persistence was rewarded, however, with soft, grateful murmurs as his muscles responded to her touch.

"That better, Handsome?"

"Much better. I didn't even realize I was tense."

"You're tired, Horatio. It's not a crime. Or actually, maybe it is. I'll give you the same sentence you gave me Monday night – a good night's sleep."

"But with one ear open." He gracefully rose from the couch, appearing even taller than he was in the dimly moonlit room. "At least for tonight."

As they passed the guest bedroom, Calleigh heard soft snores coming from it. Sarah probably needed a good night's sleep more than any of them. Please, Calleigh thought silently, don't let the perps catch up with her tonight.

Horatio was asleep minutes after his head hit the pillow. Calleigh tried to hold herself on guard, to take some of the burden of watchfulness from him, but it was a losing battle. Finally, the house was still, as it had been an eternity ago that morning before the phone rang.

(H/C)

Sarah swung the car into her driveway and looked over at Horatio. "I'm just going to pick up a few things and change clothes. You don't have to come in with me."

"Wrong." He got out of the car firmly and followed her to the door. Calleigh was taking Rosalind to daycare and then would pick Horatio up at the hospital after he left Sarah there.

Sarah shook her head. "I'm really grateful, Mr. Caine, but . . ."

"Horatio," he corrected firmly. "People I'm hiding at my house get to call me Horatio."

"It just seems like an awful imposition on you. All this bother."

His smile reassured her. "Believe me, Sarah, I'd actually rather prevent murders than process them. So just stay alive for me, okay?"

She shuddered. "It's still hard to believe somebody wants to kill me. What did I do to them?"

Horatio had seen too much casual murder, the killing of innocent people who were just in the way as impersonally as one might step on a spider. He hated to impose that insight on Sarah, though. She had stopped and was looking back at him, waiting for an answer. She trusted him now. He prayed that he would be worthy of it. "It's not personal for them, just . . ." His eyes hardened a fraction of a second before his voice trailed off.

"Horatio?" Sarah was stunned at the change. In a day with him as her self-appointed bodyguard, she had been confused by him, amused by him, and awestruck by his compassion, but she had not until now been frightened of him.

He drew his gun in one smooth motion. "Get behind me."

His voice pulled her into action while her mind was still whirling. She tucked in behind him, and he advanced the final few steps to the door, gun ready. Try as she might, Sarah saw nothing odd about the door, nothing to explain the danger he obviously sensed. He unlocked the door left-handed, using the key she had given him the day before, his right hand still firmly on the gun. The gun was the first to enter the house, with Horatio's voice like the crack of a whip just behind it. "Police!" He lunged through the door, turning to scan all points of the room. Sarah peered around his shoulders, and her eyes widened. Everything she and Sam owned was turned over, items swept into the floor, drawers emptied out, couch cushions slit open.

The criminals whose existence she had still tried to deny until now had found her house. But they, like Horatio, had obviously not yet found what they were looking for.


	6. Chapter 6

Musical Notes: Let There Be Peace on Earth was written in the summer of 1955 by Sy Miller and Jill Jackson, inspired by Jill Jackson's thoughts and realizations about life and love after an unsuccessful suicide attempt. Written after the resolution of turmoil on a personal level, it has become almost a world anthem for peace and has been sung in dozens of countries. I am told that this is the song that plays at the Oklahoma City Bombing Memorial. Beautiful song with drive, promise, and a triumphant ending.

(H/C)

"No song of love, no lullaby.

And no bards sang to change the world.

No pipers played, no dancers twirled.

I dreamed a dream, a silent dream.

A silent dream.

Silence."

The Awakening, Martin

(H/C)

A statistic. Sarah stood in her living room, perfectly still, hands in her pockets at Horatio's command. She had become a statistic. Horatio had turned into a crime-processing machine right under her eyes, and even now, as he gave terse orders into the cell phone, his gaze continued to sweep the debris, sorting, sifting, processing. This was the part of crime she had never realized, that someone could break into a life and turn it into a mere statistic. The one time she had started to move toward the side of the room to inspect some of the wreckage, Horatio's voice had nailed her to the spot before she'd taken half a step. So she stood, perfectly still, hands in her pockets, her eyes counting broken memories while his processed evidence. Fury rose slowly, grappled with violation, and with difficulty, overcame it.

"Let me know anything that turns up from that picture," Horatio concluded. He was talking to someone named Eric now. Before that, he had called people named Tripp and Speed, followed by calls to the hospital and to someone in the department to arrange a guard on Sam, as well as a quick call to Calleigh. His tone had softened slightly when talking to Calleigh, but that conversation had been no less efficient than any of the others.

"Sarah." She jumped slightly. She hadn't even been sure if he remembered she was there – at least as long as she stood still. He carefully walked across to her, stepping around the debris, and when he stopped in front of her, she was surprised to see a spark of fury in his eyes that came near matching her own. Underneath the machine-like efficiency, he did still see people, apparently, not just evidence. He recognized her sense of violation. "I'm sorry," he said inadequately.

Her voice shook with anger and fear combined as she looked at the viciously slashed couch cushions. "If I had been here, they would have killed me."

His eyes dipped in confirmation. "I'll get you to the hospital as soon as someone else gets here to secure the scene. You'll have to put off getting more clothes, though. Nothing leaves until this house is processed, but I know you need to be with Sam."

"Thank you." She remembered the calls to the hospital and for a guard. "Do you think they'll go after him?"

"Or you. There will be a guard at the hospital today, Sarah, to watch you as well as one for Sam. Don't go anywhere alone while you're there. Don't try to lose him."

She looked at the slit couch cushions again. "I won't." Her gaze went beyond the cushions to the pictures, swept off the wall and smashed. "Why would they take down the pictures? It would be hard to hide a necklace in them."

"To see if anything was behind them. Sometimes people have wall safes behind pictures."

"But why break them just because they were in the way?"

He didn't answer. She knew the answer already. Instead, he held his cell phone out to her. "Sarah, I've been meaning to ask you, just to double check. Look at this picture. This is the necklace Sam gave you, right?"

Her hesitation surprised him. "Y-esss." The simple word was drawn out to three syllables.

He was alert instantly. "You aren't sure?"

"Oh, that's the necklace. But there's something . . . I don't know. Something's different about it. Can't put my finger on it."

"Try." He kept the picture there, and Sarah abruptly remembered that it was her fault they only had a picture instead of the necklace itself in the first place. Just like it was her fault Sam had been hurt.

"I am trying," she snapped. "Just like I've tried to remember where I lost it. Don't you think I want this to all be over?"

He pulled the cell phone back, snapping it closed. "I'm sorry," he said again.

Sarah took a deep breath. "No, I'm sorry." She grasped for a different subject. "Horatio, how did you know something was wrong? I couldn't see anything wrong with the door. How'd they get in, anyway?"

"Cheap lock," he stated, giving it a withering stare. If a door knob could have cringed, it would have. "You need to replace it with a dead bolt as soon as you can. A criminal could pick it in seconds. Yesterday, when I finished searching the house for the necklace, I left three small dark threads shut in the door when I locked it. On the hinge side, away from the knob."

"So you knew someone had opened the door."

"Right. This also tells us more about who we're dealing with. Really top criminals would have noticed the threads and replaced them. These guys are middlemen, errand runners, crooks for hire. The man at the top, whoever he is, doesn't want any obvious or traceable connection at all to this. I doubt they even know his real name or address."

"Then how will you find him?"

His smile turned predatory. "We have our ways." His head came up alertly, and he turned to face the door a minute before Speed slouched in, looking even more rumpled than usual. He stopped in the doorway and looked around the mess.

"Did a thorough job on the place, didn't they?"

"Not as thorough as you're going to do," Horatio replied. "I'm taking Sarah to the hospital. Tripp should be here soon, and I'll be back with Calleigh. Meanwhile, it's all yours."

Speed sighed and snapped the gloves on. "Thanks, H," he said, obviously not meaning it. All day yesterday sorting out fingerprints that led nowhere, and now this mess. This wasn't his week for cooperative, straightforward evidence.

Horatio and Sarah exited, and Horatio pulled her to a stop just outside. "Let's check our shoes, just in case, even though we were careful. Don't want to walk off with evidence." She held up each foot for inspection, and he carefully checked his own, too. "Okay, let's get you to the hospital."

Sarah glanced back at her house. "Are you sure he knows what he's doing?"

"Speed? Trust me. He's a great CSI."

"He just isn't my picture of an officer, somehow. Then again, neither are you."

Horatio smiled at her. "We're people too, Sarah. And we never forget that you are." He slipped the sunglasses on. "Let's go."

(H/C)

Calleigh and Horatio exited the hospital and started across the parking lot. "So you think they'll go for Sarah now?"

"Probably. We can assume that Hermann told them Sam wanted the necklace for a gift for his sister. They know it isn't in the house now. She's the obvious next step. They work at night so far, though." He slowed, twisting and craning his neck to look back up at the hospital windows. "There's a guard for Sam and one for her now, and there are people all around. In daylight, I think she's safe for the moment."

"You can't do everything yourself, Horatio. The best thing we can do is process the evidence and nail these perps."

"Right. Sarah's still staying with us tonight, though." He started walking again. "And tonight, we sleep with both ears open."

Calleigh climbed into the passenger's side of the Hummer when they reached it. Driving was getting easier, but it was still a conscious act at every move. How many times had she taken a journey simply on auto pilot, her thoughts miles away from the road? How many other people were driving like that? She shivered.

Horatio smiled at her as he took the wheel. "Did you and Rosalind have any trouble this morning?"

"No. She was tense, but she didn't fight it. She just wants to make sure I don't disappear." Calleigh grinned suddenly. "You've turned her into a seatbelt watcher, though. She keeps score at stoplights."

He pulled out into the street. "How are you doing?"

She sighed. "Better. Frustrated that it isn't just over, but I'm dealing with it."

He reached across at a stoplight to squeeze her arm, and the warmth of his touch burned into her. "This isn't all your fault, you know."

"The wreck? I know that, Horatio. It was the deer."

"No." He shook his head. "This whole case. You've been thinking a couple of times, last night and then this morning, about what you've gotten us into. Rosalind and me both, I think. You wish we didn't have to deal with all this."

She couldn't hide anything from the man. "What's wrong with that? You were thinking of Rosalind last night yourself, when you didn't want to sleep on the couch near the doors. You were protecting her even more than Sarah."

It was his turn to look away. "You're right. We can't help it. She's our daughter."

"And you're my husband, and yes, a few times, I've wished you didn't have to deal with so much this week. I at least get more regular hours since Rosalind. But then I remember Sarah and Sam. Part of the time, I resent all of this being dropped on us, but part of the time, I'm glad it was me, Horatio. What if Sam's message had been left with somebody who didn't care? Sarah would already be dead. But Horatio, when we're past this case, you are going to take a few days off even if I have to arrest you. I'm just coming off a vacation; you're coming off that trial."

He grinned at her. "Calleigh, you're amazing. You know how few people can still think of others in the middle of stress themselves?"

"Yes. And I'm married to the best of them." She dazzled him with her smile, and he suddenly thought that whatever the emerald and diamond necklace actually looked like, it could never even start to match the sparkle of Calleigh Caine.

(H/C)

Speed gave a soft sound of satisfaction. "Got it. They never learn." He lifted the clear prints off the toilet handle and the sink. Only a few prints; luckily, the bathroom had been cleaned fairly recently, probably last weekend. Most of the stacked prints were in the same location, too. That would be Sarah. People were amazingly habitual about things, always reaching for faucets in exactly the same way they always did. Crooks, too, followed their standard habits, and Speed had found that even in the middle of committing a crime, almost none of them used the bathroom with gloves on. The isolated prints in slightly different locations from the stacked ones were the prints he'd bet on for the perps.

He heard the front door open and quickly left the bathroom to check. It was Tripp, paused just inside the door to study the mess. "Find anything, Speedle?"

"Prints in the bathroom. This took a while to tear up the whole house like this, and at least one of them made a pit stop."

Tripp didn't look impressed. He never did. "Anything else?"

"I'm just getting started. This is going to take all day." Speed glanced at his watch. "Especially if H and Calleigh don't get back here to help."

"Nice to have job security," Tripp replied. "What about the jewelry shop yesterday? Anything else on the evidence there?"

Speed shook his head. "No prints match anything in AFIS. Probably customers. The perps wore gloves. I did get one thing from the broken computer."

"Tool mark?"

"Tread mark. One of them kicked the screen before he hit it with whatever he hit it with. He was getting frustrated. I think he hit the screen with his gun to break it. We've got about two-thirds of a shoeprint intact below the break, though."

"And it matched a rare kind of shoe specially made for only one person in Miami, right?" Tripp didn't sound hopeful. He never did.

"Nope. I'm not that lucky this week. There was some residue from the shoe, though. Traces of oil, grease, transmission fluid. We found traces of the same stuff on the floor of the jewelry store in spots."

"Like he worked in a garage, maybe."

"Or in a chop shop. I'll be sure to look for more of the same here." He securely sealed the evidence envelope. "Got clear prints, at least."

"Excellent," said Horatio behind Tripp, and the detective and the trace expert both jumped.

"You're gonna give somebody a heart attack one day," Tripp protested.

Horatio gave him a half smile of apology. He entered the house the rest of the way with Calleigh at his heels. "How's it going, Speed? Aside from the prints."

"Nothing yet. I'm just getting started." Speed surveyed the mess. "I could use some help."

"We're all yours," Calleigh promised. "At least for the moment."

Horatio turned to Tripp. "What else have you come up with on the jewelry store?"

"Accessed Hermann's financial records. He was comfortably well off with the jewelry store proceeds, but he made four deposits over the last year that were more than comfortably well off. All of them cash. If he'd kept that up, the IRS would have gotten down to investigating eventually." Large cash deposits were always reported by banks to the IRS, as required by the Bank Security Act. The IRS wasn't known for its speed, but as Al Capone had discovered, tax collectors were quite persistent.

"Into his own account." Calleigh shook her head. "How can people be so stupid sometimes?"

"It makes our job easier," Horatio reminded her. "I take it you got the dates of those deposits?"

Tripp pulled a sheet off his notepad and handed it over. Calleigh slipped up comfortably close to Horatio so they could study it together. "Those aren't regular dates. No kind of system there."

"I was counting on that," Horatio said. "If it was too predictable, Hermann never would have been on vacation the week one of the special shipments came in."

"I got shipping records, too," Tripp stated. "UPS, FedEx, and DHL all delivered to the jewelry store last Wednesday. Took half the day to get a warrant for the shipper IDs and tracking info, but I've got them. Left those at CSI for you last night. You'd already gone."

"Eric and Tyler are there working on this case today. I'll call Tyler; he was running background checks on the conference attendees yesterday. Maybe a name will cross reference."

"Where were you last night, anyway?" Tripp was curious. For Horatio to have already left CSI at 6:00 with a big case on was unusual, even though he had relaxed the hours some since Rosalind. Tripp knew Sarah was staying with him, but surely Sarah would have wanted to stay at the hospital later than that.

"I had somewhere important to get to."

"Hot date?" Speed suggested, grinning at Calleigh. He could have guessed the other participant in the date.

"No. I was at the same place I'll be all evening tonight. Choir practice." Horatio snapped his gloves on, indicating that the conversation was over, and Calleigh fought back a laugh at the identical stunned expression on Speed's and Tripp's faces. She pulled on her own gloves and started to process the house. It was a good minute before the other two men came to life again.

(H/C)

Sarah sat next to the bed, looking at the monitors. The doctor had said that Sam seemed better today, his vitals stronger, and that the bleeding in the brain was completely stopped now, but he had still shown no signs of consciousness. This was Thursday. Three days, Sarah thought. She seemed to remember reading somewhere that the longer it took you to wake up from a coma, the greater the odds of brain damage. She couldn't see much difference in the monitor readings herself, but she was glad to have some hope to hold onto. Her own hope was running thin. The break-in last night had stolen it. If only she could remember where she had lost the necklace. She sighed, and the two guards seated by the cubicle door, one for her and one for Sam, looked at her briefly, then returned to watching the doors to ICU.

She stood stiffly and stretched, gave Sam's hand a squeeze, then walked to the door of the cubicle. The man in the cubicle to the right, the sullen patient, was gone today. She wondered whether he had died or improved, but she didn't ask. The accident victim to her left was still there, though she seemed better today. Her mother had already been over once this morning to ask Sarah to sing again, to sing her daughter to sleep. Sarah had obliged, but Sam hadn't responded.

Sarah turned to the guards. "I think I'll take a walk down to the cafeteria." She suddenly needed to go somewhere, do something. She wasn't hungry, but a cup of coffee and a walk sounded good. She turned back to the bed, picking up her purse. "I'll be back in a few minutes, Sam." He didn't move.

Her guard stood, glancing at his watch. "It is about lunch time. We'll be back in a little bit, Simmons, and then you can take a break." The other guard nodded, and Sarah left the ICU, alertly accompanied by her shadow. Remembering those slashed couch cushions and shattered pictures, she was grateful for his presence.

The hospital cafeteria was abuzz with the lunch rush, and Sarah was surprised to find herself getting hungry, the smells of food awakening her appetite. She and her guard went through the line, although his eyes never relaxed. When they came to the cashier, she paid for her meal, then waited while he pulled out his own wallet.

The blow struck her from behind, knocking her into the policeman, and there was a sudden sharp pain at her neck, accompanied by a ripping sound, then a tug at her arm. A few people screamed, but it was over almost as soon as it had begun. Sarah was pulled to her feet by the guard. "You okay?" His eyes followed the fleeing figure, but he stayed with Sarah.

She took a deep breath. "I think so." She raised one hand to the stinging place on the side of her neck and drew it away with traces of blood on the fingertips. The guard tilted her head for a better inspection.

"He scratched you. Tore your collar, too."

"He grabbed at my neck to make sure I wasn't wearing the necklace." Her mind was starting to function again. "He took my purse, too."

An agitated knot of people swirled around them, and a man in scrubs pushed to the front, drawn by the sight of blood. "I'm a doctor, ma'am. Are you all right?"

Sarah suddenly remembered Horatio from that morning, insisting that she touch nothing, talking about evidence left even from casual contact. Once again, apparently, she was a statistic, but this time, maybe she could do something to help. She backed away from the doctor. "It's just a small scratch, but I don't need it cleaned yet. He touched me. He could have left evidence on me." She looked back at the guard. "Call Lieutenant Caine. Please. This is the closest we've been to one of them."

Another uniform pushed to the front of the crowd. Hospital security. "Is anybody hurt? Did you see the man who snatched your purse?"

"No," Sarah said, but the guard's voice overrode her own.

"Yes. I was pinned by Ms. Carpenter falling, but I got a good look at him running away." The guard flashed his MDPD badge, and security looked appropriately impressed. So did the bystanders, pressing in with eager curiosity. "We need a small room somewhere away from the crowd to discuss this. And yes, I'll call Lieutenant Caine."

"Yes, sir," the security man replied. "This way." The three of them left, Sarah protectively flanked by the other two, and behind them, the knot of people buzzed with excited conversation. For many more people than Sarah, lunch had been forgotten.

(H/C)

Horatio and Calleigh arrived with reassuring speed, and Sarah was glad to see that Calleigh had brought some of her own clothes from her house. Calleigh noted the silent look of appreciation. "These have been cleared, and I know you never got a chance to change this morning. Besides, we'll need the ones you have on as soon as we do a preliminary check."

Sarah nodded. "I remembered what you said this morning, Horatio. About leaving evidence."

"And you've probably helped us quite a bit," he said approvingly. He pulled on gloves and started going over her carefully, almost immediately finding something. "He tore a fingernail. It hooked on your zipper in back when he grabbed at your neck, and he ripped the cloth getting free." Horatio pulled the tweezers out and carefully retrieved the piece of nail from the tear, holding it out triumphantly for Sarah to see. "And that, Sarah, is DNA. It even appears to have a little bit of blood on it, hopefully his as well as yours. Conclusive evidence for any court. Excellent work."

Sarah sat a little taller, feeling not as helpless. "I didn't expect anything to happen in daylight. Not in a crowd, either."

"They probably had someone here at the hospital this morning to watch for you. They knew you weren't at home, but it's a safe bet you would come to see Sam eventually. Only you arrived with me and immediately met the guard, so they knew they wouldn't get much opportunity at you alone. They decided to try to make it look like a simple mugging. I'm going to get a little bit of your blood here, okay? So we can rule you out." He ran a swab along the shallow scratches on her neck.

"They got my purse," Sarah said. "But what happens when they find out the necklace isn't in there?"

Horatio's head tilted. "Calleigh, would you please go outside and see if Sarah's car is still in the parking lot?" Calleigh nodded and left quickly.

"Car keys." Sarah sighed. "Credit cards and driver's license, too."

"Better cancel them as quickly as you can," said the hospital security man.

"Good idea, although it's the necklace they're after." Horatio finished his quick inspection, finding nothing more than the fingernail. "Okay, when Calleigh gets back, you and she can go into a bathroom – not a public bathroom – and have you change clothes." He turned to the guard. "What did you see, Davis?"

Horatio's tone hadn't been accusing, but the guard still flinched under his inspection. "I was watching all through the line. I didn't notice anybody especially watching her, but it was a large group. Lunch rush. He waited until I was getting my wallet out, then tackled her from behind. I saw him running away, although I never had a clear shot. About 5 feet 10, Hispanic, blue shirt and jeans. He looked like he'd dressed just to blend in. Nothing exceptional."

Horatio nodded. "Probably had. All right, both of you." He divided his tone evenly between Sarah and the guard. "For the moment, once they get to a safe place, they'll be busy searching your purse and probably your car, which I'm sure they stole. When they don't find the necklace there, the next obvious step is to kidnap you for questioning. They could get your purse and the necklace if you had been wearing it and make it look like a standard mugging, but they'll be thinking larger now. Sarah, do not go anywhere at all without your guard or Calleigh or me. Don't trust anyone you don't know, no matter what they tell you. Not even if it's a message about Sam or one allegedly from me. And Davis, I'm sure you'll be especially vigilant now."

Davis straightened to attention. "Yes, sir."

Horatio gave the guard a small, tight smile. "I'm not blaming you. I did tell you this morning that so far, they worked under cover of darkness. I really didn't expect anything to happen at the hospital, and it doesn't sound like you were being careless. But the stakes have gone up now, okay?"

Davis nodded. "I'll be careful, Lieutenant Caine."

The door to the room opened, and Calleigh entered. "The car is gone. I called Tripp to get an APB put out on it."

Sarah sighed. "I guess I need to call the insurance company, as well as the credit card companies." She smiled faintly. "I did remember to charge my cell phone last night at your house, Horatio."

"Are you done, Horatio?" Calleigh asked. He nodded. "Okay, Sarah, let's find a restroom, and you can change clothes and give me the ones you have on now."

The hospital security guard spoke up. "There's a doctor's restroom two doors down. This whole area is restricted access."

"That will be fine," Horatio said, but he and the policeman trailed Calleigh and Sarah and took up positions right at the door while the women disappeared inside. Not that he expected anything else to happen for the moment, but Horatio wasn't going to take anything for granted anymore on this case. Not now and especially not tonight.

(H/C)

Eric looked up from the computer as Horatio came into the lab. "H, look at this. I'm running the fingerprints I got from the picture this morning. Five clear sets. One of them is the housekeeper who found it on the floor and moved it to the nightstand. One of them is probably Sam."

Horatio pulled out two print cards. "I just took his, by the way, in case we needed to rule him out. Also Sarah's."

"I'll check them. So there's three sets left. Two unidentified, but one of them turns up a Carlos Sanchez. He's done small time here and there for drug charges and grand theft auto. General crook for hire. No known address."

"So this is the picture." Horatio picked a snapshot up from the desk and studied it. "By the way, Sarah identifies the necklace, but she also thinks it's slightly different from this shot to the actual necklace given to her.

"Great. That's all we need. I take it she doesn't know how it's different?"

"No, she can't put her finger on it. She's not unintelligent, but she is absentminded, and she isn't that good on details. She's also worried sick about her brother at the moment, so she's hardly at her best." He pulled out an evidence envelope. "She made up for it today, though. Because she insisted on being processed immediately instead of treated for her scratch, I retrieved a fingernail. I was just on the way to take it to Valera when I saw you. What else do you have from the conference?"

Eric stood and went over to the wall, where several enlarged pictures had been hung. "Look at this, H. Sam Carpenter attended a conference that ended at 3:00. Nothing wrong. At 4:45, someone on the front desk saw him leaving, looking worried. At 5:30, a housekeeper noticed a book lying in this chair in a little side nook of the lobby." There were pictures of the chair and retreating pictures, gradually giving the large view. "It had Sam's name in it, and she turned it in at the desk to be given to him the next time anyone saw him."

"So he probably was reading for a while there. Any idea how long the book had been there?"

"An employee was watering the plants at 2:00. It wasn't there then. I think Sam came back from his conference, and with only two hours – he had another event scheduled at 5:00 – he just sat there to read for a while. But look at the big plant, H. These pictures here show that chair from all angles, and from several of them, you couldn't tell anybody was there."

"You think that's where Sam overheard whatever he overheard and then found the picture?"

"Could be. A couple of men having a quick conversation in a quiet corner of the lobby. It would be a lot less noticeable than one of them sneaking into the other's room looking in all directions for spies. If a housekeeper or someone happened to see, it would have just looked casual."

"Anything else on processing Sam's room?"

"No. I took prints, but most of them are one set." He picked up Sam's print card. "Probably his. Nothing odd in his luggage. I think he overheard something in that corner of the lobby."

Horatio nodded. "Excellent work, Eric. Okay, I'll run this fingernail to Valera. Rule out Sam's prints, then get started running these from Speed." He handed Eric a few other envelopes. "That's what he got so far from the house, and you can rule Sarah's out, too."

"He still working on the house?"

"Probably will be all day. It was really torn apart. Calleigh went back to help him for the moment. We're picking up Sarah at 5:00, though."

Eric straightened up from his fingerprints. "H?"

Horatio had started to leave, but he stopped, turning back. "What is it?"

"You and Calleigh be careful tonight. I've already processed your death scene once, okay? I'm not doing it again."

Horatio's professional expression softened a bit. "We will be. Thanks, Eric." He spun around, once again totally wrapped up in the case, and left. Eric watched his retreating back for a minute, then remembered his task. He pulled out the two fingerprints cards, clearly marked Sarah and Sam, and dove back into the analysis, but the worry at the pit of his stomach remained.

(H/C)

"Carlos Sanchez." Sarah paused between bites of her sandwich. "I've never heard of him. So he's the one who attacked me?"

"His fingernail did, at least," Horatio replied. "He handled that picture of the necklace, too, and he was in your bathroom. Unfortunately, we haven't found him. Yet." He had already finished his sandwich and was sitting at the table, his gaze traveling repeatedly from Calleigh to Rosalind to Sarah and back to Rosalind.

Sarah noticed. "I'm really sorry about all of this, Horatio."

His attention returned to her. "It's okay, Sarah. We've got the alarm system here, plus officers in the street and on the beach tonight. Besides, this house is unlisted. It would take more resources than I think Sanchez has to track down where I live, and I'm positive no one followed us from the hospital." He had been driving, and a trip that should have been 30 minutes had been over an hour. "I know I'd given you my card, so that was in your purse, but it only had the cell phone number on it, not an address. They probably recognized me this morning when I showed up at the hospital with you, anyway. You're safer here tonight than you would be almost anywhere else." He hesitated. "I do wonder about choir practice tonight, though."

Her eyes fell to the remainder of her sandwich, and she put it down. "If you really think we shouldn't go, okay, but I think it's the only thing that's kept me sane this week. If they don't know I'm here, and you're careful not to let us be followed, what's the danger in it?"

Calleigh spoke up. "Sarah, was there a day planner in your purse? Did you have it marked where you would be?"

Sarah closed her eyes, visualizing it. "Yes, there was a day planner. I write down everything. I swear, though, it only had an acronym and a time. SFS, for South Florida Singers. There wasn't any location. They probably would have trouble interpreting what it meant. I didn't need to write the location; I knew that." She opened her eyes. "I don't see how they would know where I'd be tonight."

Horatio debated with himself. He'd rather be here with Calleigh and Rosalind, but that was his personal feelings, not logic. With guards on the house, they were perfectly safe. He couldn't fault Sarah's logic, either. Logic aside, though, he knew how much the music meant to her. She hadn't been exaggerating when she said it had kept her sane this week. He appealed to Calleigh by look, leaving the decision in her hands.

"Go on," Calleigh said. "Just be careful."

Horatio stood up quickly. "We'd better get on the way, then. We aren't going there directly." He kissed Calleigh. "Be careful yourself. Take care of my girls, both of them, okay?"

She kissed him back. "We'll be fine, Horatio. Won't we, Rosalind?"

Rosalind had been sitting quietly through the meal, following the conversation with an attention that made both of her parents wonder exactly how much after all she understood. Now, she stretched up her arms out of the high chair, appealing to be picked up, and Horatio obliged. "Be good, Angel." He squeezed her tightly enough that she squirmed a bit in protest.

"Bye, bye, Dada. Home soon?"

"Not until after you're asleep, I'm afraid. So the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner I'll be back." He gave her a final squeeze and put her down. "Okay, Sarah, let's go."

Sarah had been cramming down the last bites of her sandwich. She stood up. "Thank you, both of you. I know it sounds crazy for a choir to mean that much with everything else, but . . . "

Horatio cut across her apology. "It isn't crazy, Sarah. I can't count the nights I've played the piano to piece my soul back together during a rough case. I understand."

Sarah stared at him, stunned for a moment, then relaxed. "To piece my soul back together. That's it exactly. You two are destroying all of my preconceptions about the police, you know it?"

"Good," Horatio replied. "Let's go." With a final look at Calleigh of both promise and request, he opened the door.

(H/C)

The piano changed key, and the choir surged forward with the music, making it a triumphant promise.

"Let peace begin with me. Let this be the moment now.

With every breath I take, let this be my solemn vow:

To take each moment and live each moment in peace eternally.

Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me."

They cut off together, but Brian didn't lower his hands, holding the moment. No one stirred, not even Horatio, who was sitting on the back row of the auditorium by Brian's request (but only after he had made sure all the side doors to the room were locked). After several seconds, Brian's hands fell, and the choir took a collective breath and relaxed. "That," their director said, "was brilliant. The tone, the expression, the ensemble . . . truly brilliant. I had an instructor once who said that the best part of choral singing was taking part in perfecting something that you could never, ever achieve on your own, not even if you were the best soloist in the world. We can't do this alone. I'm honored to be a part of it with you." He reverted suddenly to his usual style. "This is going to be a fabulous concert. You all should come!" As they chuckled, he spun around like a top, looking toward the back of the large room. "What about the words, Horatio? Could you get everything back there?"

"Every one. It was marvelous," Horatio said sincerely. He watched Sarah in the group. The difference from a few hours ago was incredible. She was piecing her soul back together. He was glad he hadn't denied her this, although he intended to be just as careful driving home as he had been coming. He was certain no one had followed them.

Brian turned back to face the group. "Okay, that just leaves Circle of Starlight." There was a snap of binder rings on their folders from all over the choir as they removed that piece. Almost all of them removed the music one piece at a time during rehearsal instead of holding up the entire folder. After three hours, it got heavy. "And tomorrow night, we won't rehearse." He had been weighing their readiness against their tiredness all evening. The Friday rehearsal had always been optional in pre concert week, but they were truly brilliant tonight, right on the peak. They needed rest more than they needed more practice. "We'll meet two hours before the concert Saturday and that will give us an hour and a half for a short rehearsal before we clear the hall 30 minutes out and start letting the audience in. So I'll see you at the concert hall Saturday evening." He nodded to Tom, who was standing quietly to one side, and then Brian turned and left the platform, walking all the way to the back of the room to join Horatio as Tom started the piece.

Neither Horatio nor Brian spoke. The music deserved and received their attention. Brian was sorting out the tapestry as he always did, following the individual threads and the whole. He gave a sigh of contentment as the piece ended. "Sometimes I wish I could be in the audience and direct at the same time," he said.

"Do you record the concerts?" Horatio asked.

"Yes, we have CDs of all of them. I love listening to them. But to listen live is something special." He grinned suddenly and popped up out of the seat like a jack-in-the-box. "But directing them is pretty special, too. Okay, choir, I'll see you Saturday."

Tom came up the aisle to them, eager for feedback. "What did you think?"

"Masterful," Brian said simply.

"Why do you direct that one?" Horatio asked.

"I wrote it as a present for my wife. Saturday is our fiftieth wedding anniversary."

Horatio was impressed. "It's beautiful. It reminds me of my wife." He had been watching Sarah closely all the time they were talking, and now he stepped out into the aisle as she reached them. "Ready?"

Sarah nodded. "Thank you for this, Horatio." She looked beyond him to the two other men. "Thank you for this, too. It's kept me going this week. I'll see you Saturday, Brian, Tom. Unless anything changes with Sam, of course."

"We understand," Brian assured her. "See you Saturday." He and Tom watched as Horatio and Sarah left the auditorium. "Poor Sarah. I'm glad she's had the music, at least."

"And the people who care," Tom added. He glanced back up at the people still milling around on the platform. Brian, who had been about to leave, stopped and looked back at him.

"Aren't you coming, Tom?"

"I've got to be last one out, to lock the door and set the security system. The custodian is ill tonight." Tom and Lynella had been members of the church the choir borrowed for rehearsal for 30 years, and he had been asked to lock up a few times in the past on similar occasions.

Brian stepped back into the row. "Since we have a minute, there's something I wanted to ask you. From a composer's point of view, even though it isn't your song. On Sing Me to Heaven, when the choir enters for the final chorus after the bridge, do you think it would be more effective if I . . ."

Tom sat down, and Brian joined him, the two musicians intently talking as the rest of the choir gradually filed out.

(H/C)

Horatio turned right again, completing a perfect two-block square. Nothing. No lights stayed behind him throughout. All of his senses were stretched to their furthest extent, but all of them were giving him the same message. No one was following them. He turned for home. "Sarah, could I still buy tickets for the concert? I'd love for Calleigh and Rosalind to hear this."

"Oh, sure. The concerts usually sell out, but there are a lot of people who buy tickets at the door. Just come a little early, and you'll probably get in." Her expression suddenly went serious. "Of course, you'll probably come early anyway, coming with me."

"Hopefully we'll have the case wrapped up by then." His eyes constantly checked the mirrors. Nothing.

Sarah switched back from the case to thinking about the concert, not ready to lose the musical afterglow of the evening yet. "Just be sure, if you do bring Rosalind, that she doesn't disturb anyone. She seems pretty quiet, but there's nothing more annoying to a group than a kid who's crying in a concert and whose parents won't take him out."

Horatio smiled at the thought of Rosalind. "She's special. She'll sit for hours and listen to me play. I'm sure she'd enjoy the concert, but believe me, I wouldn't let her disturb other people."

"Good," Sarah said. "It's something that gets to all of us. Even having the rehearsals disrupted is annoying. Kim had to bring her son to rehearsal Monday night when the baby-sitter didn't show, and she threatened him thoroughly before she joined us. He was pretty good, though. Guess the threats worked."

Horatio's hands abruptly tightened on the wheel of the Hummer. "There was a child at the rehearsal Monday night?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Where was he? What did he do?"

"Kim left him out in the auditorium where she'd be facing him and watching Brian at the same time. He climbed around under the pews and played with Matchbox cars."

The puzzle piece fell into place with an almost audible click. A child, climbing around under the pews. A child, like any child looking for new treasures and collecting them. "How old is he, Sarah?"

"Five." She was confused. Horatio had switched into a machine again, just like he had at her house that morning. "Horatio, what is it?"

"The necklace. I didn't find it at rehearsal Wednesday because her son found it Monday night. Where do they live?"

"Horatio, you can't go over there at this hour. He'll be asleep."

Horatio glanced at the dashboard clock and wrestled mentally with himself. Sarah had a point. Even if he found the child, woke the child, and retrieved the necklace, what would follow was a whole night of processing the necklace, unlocking its secrets. But he couldn't keep Sarah with him through all that; the whole reason she wasn't allowed to sit in the ICU 24 hours a day was so she would get a little bit of rest and recharge time, which she desperately needed. And he knew he couldn't return Sarah to his house and then leave again, even with the guards there. Calleigh was the most capable woman he had ever known, but his place was there beside her, beside her and Rosalind. There was no way the criminals could know about Kim's son. Would another nine hours in retrieving the necklace make a difference?

Sarah was still watching him, trying to read his expression. "You're right. I can't do anything tonight, not this late. But give me Kim's address, just the same. I'm calling to have a guard put on their house tonight, too. Just in case."

(H/C)

Brian abruptly looked around the deserted parking lot. "I hadn't realized we'd been talking so long. Everybody's left us."

Tom chuckled. "Lynn always says I could talk music for hours." The musical discussion they had started in the church had walked out to the parking lot.

"It hasn't been hours," Brian corrected. "But Cindy always says the same thing about me. Well, I'll see you Saturday at the concert hall, Tom." He unlocked his car, which they had been leaning on for the last 20 minutes.

"See you then. Good night, Brian." Tom started for his own car, parked two slots down, both of them in the very end of the lot. He only made it a few steps, though, before he slammed to a halt with a muttered curse. Brian, getting in his own car, heard him and hesitated.

"What's wrong?"

"I left my music folder up in the loft. I just took the music to Circle out of it when we practiced, and then I wanted to ask your opinion, so I came straight down the aisle from the platform. I never went back up to my chair. I'll need it at the hall on Saturday." He fished out his keys, separating the one he had been given to the church. "I'll run back in and get it. I know the security code. Go on, it's all right."

"Okay. See you Saturday." Brian turned on his car and drove off, humming to himself.

Tom walked back across the lot to the church door, humming as well but so softly that it was barely audible. He keyed in the code to disarm the system, then unlocked the door. His hand came out for the light switch, and he hesitated. The moon was shining through the ample windows of the curved entryway and lobby, and between that and the one security light at each end, he could see well enough. It wasn't quite a circle of starlight, but it was close, and he hated to fracture the moonlight with artificial glare. Still humming almost soundlessly to himself, he pulled his hand back from the switch and walked on into the darkened building alone.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7, Swan Song

Musical Notes: The Vacant Chair is a ballad composed during the U.S. Civil War by Henry Washburn and George Root. It tells the story of a family gathering for a reunion, but one of their members was killed in the war since they last all met. Told from the point of view of the family, it runs the whole tangle of grief through denial, pleading that he isn't dead after all, pride at his courage, shattered hopes, and shared memories. Poignant song, beautifully written. It obviously has a war setting, but there is no indication which war or which side the family was on, making the song ageless, a purely emotional tribute to the fallen, not a commentary. Sad but cathartic, too. In the arrangement I have sung, at the very end of the piece after the voices have stopped, the piano plays the first three notes of Taps and leaves it hanging.

(H/C)

"We shall meet, but we shall miss him.

There will be one vacant chair."

The Vacant Chair, Washburn/Root

(H/C)

Calleigh pushed herself up on her elbow and muttered a curse under her breath as Horatio pounced on the ringing phone, graceful and quick as a cat, even while waking up. Calleigh's eyes found the digital clock. It was 12:30 a.m. They hadn't even been asleep for an hour yet. She sighed and wondered if it would all just be a nightmare if she closed her eyes again. Horatio's tone was perfectly even as he answered, nothing in his smooth voice to indicate that this was any different than answering the phone at CSI in the middle of the day.

It was one of the night operators from MDPD. "Lieutenant Caine, sorry to disturb you, but there's a man calling who insists he has to speak to you as soon as possible. He wanted your home number."

Horatio twisted slightly so he could see the clock himself. He gave a silent sigh, which Calleigh felt but the operator didn't hear. "What is his name?"

"Brian Masterson."

Calleigh felt Horatio tense. "Did he leave a number?"

"Yes." The operator provided it, and Horatio recorded it carefully on the notepad of his mind.

"Thank you. I'll call him." He hung up, only to pick the phone up again immediately. "Brian, the choir director," he explained to Calleigh as he dialed unerringly in the dark. "He's trying to get in touch with me."

"At 12:30?" Already, Calleigh was creating mental scenarios, and she liked none of them. As off the wall as Brian had sounded at times from Horatio's descriptions, surely he wouldn't track him down at night without a very good reason.

Brian answered the phone with the frantic grab of one who has been sitting coiled beside it just waiting for the ring. "Horatio, I just had a call from Lynella Schaeffer, Tom's wife. Tom never came home tonight. She's worried about him and wanted to know when he left practice. Can you find him or see if there's been a wreck or something?" All of this came bursting out in one breath.

"Which one is Tom?"

"The silver-haired man you spoke to at the end. He wrote Circle of Starlight."

"What time did he leave practice?"

"About 10:30. He and I were the last two to leave. We got to talking about music and lost track of the time. He went back in the church when I left, though."

"He went back inside alone?" Horatio's breath caught. But no one had been at the church. No one had followed him there. The perps couldn't have known.

"Yes. He forgot his folder. He was locking up tonight. The custodian wasn't there. He told me to go on home."

Horatio closed his eyes briefly, but his voice was still even, trying not to worry Brian more than he already was. "Okay, I'll send someone to check the church and also check if there's been an accident. Give me a quick description of his car, okay?"

Brian complied. "Maybe he just had a flat or something." He didn't believe it. Horatio didn't, either.

"I take it his wife has tried calling his cell phone."

"Yes. No answer."

"Okay, Brian, I'll try to find out something and call you back." For the second time, Horatio barely hung up the phone before he picked it up again to call Dispatch. Calleigh listened silently. "And call me back on my cell phone, not the home number," Horatio concluded. He hung up and leaned over to switch on the light on the nightstand. "Might as well try to let Sarah and Rosalind sleep, anyway. The cell phone is softer."

Calleigh shivered slightly, from possibilities, not from cold. "How could anybody have been at the church? They couldn't have known from Sarah's day planner where rehearsal was."

Horatio shook his head. "I was sure no one had followed me. I must have been wrong. But why stay there, if they'd tracked us that far? They'd be interested in Sarah, not the church after she left." He swung his feet out of bed. They had been sleeping fully clothed tonight in case of any alarm. "I'd better go get the cell phone. It's on the desk." He picked up his gun from the nightstand and left the room.

Calleigh picked up her own gun and followed him down the hall, pausing as he swung Rosalind's door and then Sarah's closed. Considerate even in the middle of self blame – that was Horatio. As he picked up the cell phone and turned it on, she flicked on the kitchen light and made two cups of herbal tea for them. They wound up on the couch together, sipping the tea, waiting in shared dread. Hope came to join them, purring in that solicitous way that only cats who know their people are upset can. It seemed an eternity before the cell phone rang.

"Horatio." There was a definite edge of tension in his voice now, at least to Calleigh's ears. He already knew. They both already knew.

"Officer Santiago. The car was still at the parking lot at the church, and the door was unlocked. Security system was disarmed. He was in the auditorium, Lieutenant Caine, shot once in the chest. I've secured the scene and called for Homicide and the CSIs. No sign of the perps, but something spooked them. They ran over two or three things on the way out of the building."

Again, Horatio closed his eyes for a moment. They must have followed him. No other trail would have led them to the church. But why stay there? He became aware of the voice in his ear. "Are you still there, Lieutenant?"

"Yes." His first impulse was to say he would be right there, but he knew he couldn't leave Calleigh, Rosalind, and Sarah here alone. Chris was a good CSI. He would have to trust his people. "I'll deal with informing the family. Stay there and go by the book." He hit the button to end the call and this time didn't redial immediately. Instead, he looked over at Calleigh for a moment, drawing strength from her. "He's dead."

She reached out to catch his arm. "You aren't going out there again tonight, are you?"

He shook his head. "No point. I've done enough tonight, anyway. I led them there the first time."

"Horatio . . ." she started.

"How else would they have ended up there, Calleigh? Sarah said the day planner didn't give the location."

"That doesn't fit, Horatio. If they'd followed you, they would have attacked you, either going there or coming home. That would have been their best opportunity. They wouldn't have waited there until they thought everyone had left."

He silenced her by dialing. Brian picked up the phone just as quickly this time. "Horatio?"

Horatio tried not to hear the hopefulness in the other man's voice. "He's dead, Brian. He was shot."

There was silence for a minute. "But I was just talking with him a few hours ago," Brian objected. Horatio heard the echo of dozens of other victims' friends and families, that he had just left, had just called, just spoken to them, that life shouldn't be able to change irrevocably in such a short time. Brian moved on past it sooner than many of them did. "At the church?"

"At the church."

"I should have gone back in with him."

"Then you'd both be dead. Neither of you was armed, and you wouldn't have known what you were walking into any more than he did. Listen, Brian, I need your opinion on something. I've never met his wife, and I get the feeling you know her well."

"Yes, we're all good friends. My wife, too."

"Would she rather. . ." Horatio stopped. Of course she wouldn't rather get the news at all. He tried to think of a way to rephrase that. "How do you think she should be told? On the phone? In person? By a friend or by an official?"

Brian sighed. "In person. I'll go with my wife. They have kids but not in the area. We'll stay with her the rest of tonight."

"Thank you," Horatio said. "I'll do it myself, if you think that would be better, but it would have to be on the phone. I can't go over there. I've got Sarah here, and even with the house under guard, I'm not leaving my family tonight. They must have followed me to the church; nothing else would have led them there. They must know she's with me. If someone here as a lookout saw me leave . . ."

"I understand. Lynn needs friends over there tonight, anyway. We'll go."

"Tell her I'll talk to her as soon as I can. Tell her we'll get them."

"I will." There was a long pause. "Thank you, Horatio."

"Thank you, Brian." Horatio ended the call and set the cell phone down. Calleigh came back from the kitchen with another two cups of tea, and he took his from her gratefully, curling both hands around it to feel the heat. Murder always made him cold. Even the anger, the fire that burned in him toward the criminals, was icy fire.

Calleigh slid over next to him, and he put one arm around her, pulling her close. "I'm sorry I got us into this," she said softly.

"You haven't done anything wrong, Cal."

"Neither have you." He didn't answer, but she felt the stubborn denial in him. Hopefully the evidence would turn up a different reason to place the perps at the church. She couldn't imagine Horatio failing to notice that he was being followed, especially not while he was protecting someone. "Tom was the one who wrote that song you mentioned, right?"

He nodded. "For his wife. Saturday would have been their fiftieth wedding anniversary."

Calleigh closed her eyes and leaned into him as he leaned into her. There was nothing to say.

(H/C)

Sarah rolled over and slowly opened her eyes, momentarily disoriented by the soundest sleep she'd had in days. The bed was wrong. The whole feel of the place was wrong. Too soon, her mind caught up with her, and she remembered everything that had happened this week and the reason she was in a strange house.

She climbed out of bed and noted the closed bedroom door. Hadn't she left it open when she went to bed? She opened it quietly, looking at her watch. 6:00 a.m. Usually, Horatio or Calleigh would be up already, but everything was silent.

She found them in the living room. They were curled together on the couch, Calleigh snuggled into his side, Horatio with his head on hers, her hair fanning partway across her face like a curtain. They were asleep. Hope was tucked warmly into the curl of Calleigh's stomach and alone of the three of them looked comfortable. Sarah noted the guns on the coffee table, ready to hand, and she knew that from now on, this would be her image of the police, weary but faithful guardians of the city. Both of them looked absolutely exhausted, and Sarah just stood watching them for a minute, trying to decide which of them looked protective and which vulnerable.

Finally, she turned away, going back into the bathroom, shutting the door softly. As she washed her face, she ran her hands over the scratches on her neck and shivered slightly. She felt like her life had been marked by crime this week, the wounds physically ripping into her, leaving permanent scars even if they ever healed. What on earth could be so important about that necklace? Whatever it was, it wasn't worth the possible cost of Sam's life. For the umpteenth time, she berated herself about letting her cell phone run down Monday afternoon.

As Sarah opened the bathroom door again, she heard a soft, muffled mama from the end of the hall. Rosalind. She wasn't crying, just waking up, but she definitely wanted attention. Trying to give the two weary soldiers on a couch a few more minutes' reprieve from duty, Sarah opened the door to the nursery, slid through, and reclosed it. "Good morning, Rosalind," she said, trying to sound cheerful. She had never liked children much, although she'd been impressed by this one in the last few days. Rosalind was quieter than any other child her age Sarah had ever met, but one look in the eyes, and you saw the wheels turning. There was something eerily adult about her at times.

Rosalind stared at her. She knew Sarah from the last few days, but a few days weren't anywhere close to enough for her to accept someone. "Mama? Dada?"

"They're asleep, Rosalind. Let them sleep a little longer, okay?" Sarah walked over to the crib and reached for the girl. "Come here." Rosalind pulled away. "Hold still, Rosalind. I can get you changed and dressed, at least." The crib didn't offer much scope for escape, and Sarah caught Rosalind, picking her up.

Almost in the same second, Rosalind let out a sharp cry of "No!" and bit Sarah on the wrist, and as Sarah jumped back, startled, trying not to drop the child, the door behind her burst open, and she spun to find herself looking straight down the barrels of two 9 mm police specials. Horatio and Calleigh stared at Sarah as she stared back at them. Rosalind stretched her arms out, seeing only her parents, not the guns. "Mama! Dada!"

Time unfroze itself, and the guns lowered. Calleigh handed hers to Horatio, then took her daughter from Sarah. "Good morning, Rosalind."

Rosalind reached out to tap Horatio insistently. "Morning, Dada."

Horatio stared down at the gun in each hand. "Good morning, Angel."

"Sorry," Sarah said. "I was just trying to let you two sleep a little longer."

Horatio gave her a slight smile, but she could read the tension behind it. "We appreciate the thought, Sarah." He noticed Sarah rubbing her wrist. "Hurt yourself?"

"She bit me." Sarah took her hand away long enough to look at it. The skin was reddened, but Rosalind's little teeth hadn't broken the skin.

Calleigh had finished changing Rosalind at this point. "Rosalind, you don't bite people," she said in mild disapproval, but there was amusement there, too.

Sarah grinned at her. "She did let me know she didn't want to be picked up first. I just didn't realize how much she meant it."

Horatio headed back down the hall. "We'd better get breakfast. Lots of things to do today."

Sarah abruptly remembered that the two of them asleep on the couch instead of in the bedroom. "Is something new wrong? Did anything happen last night?"

Horatio and Calleigh exchanged a look, then both started simultaneously, each trying to spare the other telling the story. They wound up giving it in turns.

(H/C)

Fifty years. Lynella stared at the pictures on her wall, memories recorded from across a lifetime. No, she realized. Not quite fifty years. It would have been fifty years. Tomorrow.

Brian came back into the room with three cups of coffee clutched awkwardly in only two hands, and Cindy quickly got up to save them on the brink of sloshing. She passed one to Lynella, then took her own as she and her husband sat back down. Not much had been said over the last several hours, but they had simply been there, supporting with their presence, the reality of friendship the only warm touch in this unreal, endless night. "Thank you for staying," Lynella said finally, breaking the silence. "Don't you have to go to work, though?"

"I'll call in," Brian said instantly.

"We'll stay here until the children get in," Cindy added. "Unless you want us to go, that is." Calls had already been made to the distant family, and many more people's plans than theirs had been changed today. One son would be arriving in the early afternoon, another son and a daughter that evening. Ironically, all of them had originally been scheduled to arrive Saturday morning, anyway.

Lynella picked up Cindy's thought somehow. "They were all coming in tomorrow. They were going to take us out to eat lunch for the anniversary. It couldn't be the evening, because Tom had to be there early for the concert." She suddenly looked at Brian with eyes brimming with unshed tears. Many had already fallen, but the supply seemed endless. "Brian, what about the concert? Tom wouldn't want you to cancel it."

Brian had already come to the same conclusion hours ago. "No. We'll go on with it, in his memory." He hesitated, then pushed on to a question he hadn't been able to answer for himself, because he had no right to answer it. "We'll do the concert for Tom, but Circle of Starlight is yours."

Her eyes closed on the only memory she had of it. Half-heard music calling her in the dark through a closed door, his soft voice caressing the words, only one of them reaching her clearly. Love. Tears found their way through the closed lids again, tracing silent tracks down her cheeks. But was Circle actually hers? Saturday had been the premiere, next Monday the official publication date. The publisher already had orders waiting for shipment. She had the memories; she couldn't deny the world his music. She opened her eyes again. "Go ahead with it," she said softly.

Brian nodded, accepting the decision and instantly dropping the subject. They all sat there again without conversation but with unashamed tears from more than just Lynella as they remembered the man they all had known. Inside and outside, the unreal, endless night gave way to an unreal dawn.

(H/C)

"Matthew David Russell!" Matt, exiting the bathroom, cringed, as would any child on hearing his complete name from the parental lips. What had he done now?

Matt thought of hiding, but it would only make it worse. He went into the living room to find his mother there, hands on hips, and two strangers, a red-haired man and a golden-haired woman. "What did I do?"

Kim nailed him with her eyes. "Did you find a necklace at the rehearsal Monday night?"

Matt stared at her, wondering why she was so upset about it. "Yes," he finally admitted after squirming a minute under her gaze. "It was supposed to be a surprise."

The redhead knelt suddenly, bringing himself from a frightening height down to Matt's level. The moment caused the light to play off the badge he wore. Matt half reached out for it, then pulled back. "Are you the police?"

"That's right." The voice was gentle, soft, but somehow, it addressed him as an equal, not as a young child. "What was the surprise, Matt?"

Matt looked up at his mother. She still looked mad. "It was a present. For Christmas."

Horatio smiled at him. "You were going to give it to your mother, right? You found it there and wanted to give it to her." Kim's eyes widened, and most of the anger drained out of her as if a drain plug had been pulled.

Matt's eyes were riveted on the badge. The police came after bad people. He knew that. "Do I hafta go to jail?"

Horatio gave a soft chuckle. "No, you don't have to go to jail. You didn't do anything wrong, Matt. You didn't know it was somebody else's, did you?"

Matt shook his head. "I just found it."

"The trouble is, Matt, it did belong to somebody else. Wanting to give it to your mother wasn't wrong. But now that you know it belongs to someone, if you still tried to keep it, that would be wrong."

The child looked down suddenly, then turned and ran out of the room. He was back within a minute, clutching the necklace, and held it out to Horatio. "I'm sorry," he said. "Will you give it back for me?"

"Yes," Horatio promised. "I'll pass along your apology, too, and I'm sure she'll forgive you." He straightened up and smiled at Kim. "That's a good boy you've got there, Kim. He didn't mean anything. We'll let ourselves out, okay?" He jerked his head slightly toward the door, and Calleigh followed him. Both of them looked back just before they exited. Kim had knelt on the floor, copying Horatio's earlier position, and her son was buried in her arms.

Back in the Hummer, Horatio stretched the necklace out, studying it for the first time. Calleigh leaned over from the passenger's seat, just as eager to see it as he was. The emerald and diamond heart caught the early morning sunlight and sparkled. "It just looks like a necklace," Calleigh said, slightly disappointed. "I mean, it's pretty, but it doesn't look worth killing for."

Horatio's face tightened slightly. "No matter what secrets it has, it isn't worth killing for." He handed the necklace to her and started the Hummer. "Log that and put it in an envelope, please, Calleigh. Let's get it back to CSI and analyze it." As he put the vehicle in gear and pulled away, Calleigh caught the barely audible postscript to that sentence. "One day too late."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N and Disclaimer: Sorry for the long delay between chapters. We had a death in the family and several other things to deal with, and then my new computer threw a fit, and it took me a few days to get it thoroughly spanked. Welcome to the several new fans of the series; your feedback the last month has been a needed lift for me. With so many of the new readers commenting (positively) on how different FS is from the show, this is an opportune moment to throw in a disclaimer that applies now to all fanfic by me. The H/C list already knows this, but readers from other sites don't. After giving TPTB a year and a half worth of probation with weekly feedback which was ignored, I am no longer watching CSIM: The Soap Opera. I haven't watched since halfway through the season 3 episode Recoil, and I can't imagine anything that would tempt me to watch again in the future short of the replacement of Ann Donahue. The reasons have nothing to do with any specific ship or character but with the entire handling of the show; if you want to know detailed reasons, read the Declaration of Independence in my short story Revolution. The result is that my writing no longer even pretends to be inspired by or based on the current version of CSIM. Also, you may find discrepancies just because I'm not up to date and also because I no longer have past episodes on tape to which to refer. I haven't seen any new characters, new background information on characters, complete background transplants on characters, complete personality transplants on characters, etc. I'm not planning to stop the fanfic at this point, though my muse is completely beyond my control, but my fic is permanently based out of season 1. I have divorced this show due to irreconcilable differences, and I retain custody of my stories.

That said, enjoy Swan Song, which in no way relates to anything you see currently on TV Monday nights.

(H/C)

"If you would comfort me, sing me a lullaby.

If you would win my heart, sing me a love song.

If you would mourn me and bring me to God,

Sing me a requiem. Sing me to heaven."

Sing Me to Heaven, Gawthorp

(H/C)

"Come on!" Speed muttered under his breath. The tiny device he was analyzing apparently refused to listen. He hadn't really expected it to.

"Speed." Horatio's approach was soundless as always, but the tone of his voice brought the trace expert to almost attention. "Making any progress?"

Speed analyzed Horatio's expression quickly and answered without a trace of sarcasm. "Nothing new, H. I'm trying to match the partial on this bug we found on Sarah's phone, but it's too small to give me much. There's nothing we didn't already know on the rest of the evidence from the break-in at her house. Other than in the bathroom and maybe in handling this bug, Sanchez wore gloves."

"Could the print from the bug match Sanchez?"

"Yes, but it could match a lot of other people, too. There's not enough there to work with, really. He was holding it by the edges. Just a fraction of a print on each side. If he had a partner, it could be his print just as well."

Horatio extracted the evidence envelope from his jacket. "See what you can get from this. It looks more promising."

"You got it." He was addressing his supervisor's rapidly retreating back. Horatio was already heading for the stairs to his office. Speed opened the envelope and dumped the necklace out onto the table. So this was the famous necklace. With as much hope as he ever let himself feel in any one piece of evidence, he put the bug aside in its own envelope and got to work.

(H/C)

Horatio opened the door to his office and stopped briefly halfway through. Chris, head of the night shift at CSI, was sitting in the chair in front of his desk, obviously waiting. "Chris. You got off an hour ago. You could have left me a report, you know."

"I thought you'd want this one direct."

Horatio nodded with a half smile of thanks. He smoothly walked around the desk and dropped into his own chair. "Let me have it. Overview. I'll get more details from Delko."

"He showed up there just as I was leaving. My people were briefing him." On a crime that occurred on one shift but had connections, as this one was assumed to have, with another, it was common to have people from both shifts working the evidence in turn, handing off like a skilled relay team. Chris took a minute to collect his thoughts and then started. "We think the perp slipped into the church during rehearsal and hid. That's a pretty good lock and security system they have; it wouldn't be easy to get in once it was activated. Once he thought people had left, he went into the auditorium and started to search at the front. Schaeffer walked in on him. Schaeffer was about halfway down the auditorium. He had apparently come in the back door and was walking down the aisle when he was shot. One shot to the heart, 9 mil." Horatio shifted slightly, and Chris anticipated the question. "I know, the autopsy hasn't been done yet, so we don't have the bullet, but the gun was still there. I'm assuming it was the same one. It had recently been fired."

Horatio's eyebrow quirked slightly. "He left the gun?"

"Something spooked him, H. It was like two crime scenes. The perp was at the front at first, between the pews, and he stepped to the center and shot Schaeffer in the chest while looking straight at him. Cold-blooded. Then he walked up to the body, still holding the gun, and bent over him. Then, judging from where the gun was and the carpet impressions, he suddenly dropped the gun, charged out of there so fast that he actually knocked one of the pews slightly off center, bolted out of the auditorium, knocking over a plant stand in the foyer, and got the hell out. He left his gun, a flashlight, and also dropped a cell phone on the dash up the aisle."

"A cell phone," Horatio mused, stretching out the syllables into a complete identity and address for the perp.

Chris shook his head. "Prepaid. We ran it. No contract, address listed when it was activated fake. You can refill them with cash at the wireless stores."

"But possibly still useful in call records."

"Yes. I brought several things back, including the gun for Calleigh."

Horatio's head tilted slightly. "So this man shot Tom in cold blood," – Chris noted the use of the first name but didn't comment – "calmly walked up the aisle to his body, bent over it, then panicked."

"Right."

Horatio closed his eyes for a moment, visualizing the church. "Are the photos developed yet?"

"Not yet. We were just finishing the initial photos and documenting the scene. There's so much there, we were going slowly. The plant, the door, the gun, the phone. Wonder what could make him run like that. It wasn't the killing. He walked to the body first, perfectly steady by the carpet tracks."

"Any signs of a second perp?"

"None. Of course, he might not have left in such a panic, but the carpet took footprints really easily. I think we would have seen tracks from two perps. There was a whole group of people there that night, obviously, but they stayed in the center of the aisle for the most part. This man was looking all over, and he walked up the very edge of the aisle. His prints clearly went up to the body, and he actually stepped in some blood at that point, so we know those prints went with the perp. Backtracking those shoes from the body, before the blood, I think he was in between two of the front pews when he heard Schaeffer and came out. There were clear tracks for those first few rows. Looking for something carefully, systematically." Chris shrugged. "And then totally panicked, never finished his search, and bolted. Like I said, it was like two different perps in one."

Horatio nodded. "Whatever spooked him, it will make him easier to catch. Thank you, Chris. Let me have the evidence, and you go home and get some sleep."

Chris stood and handed over the envelopes. Looking at the fire in Horatio's eyes, he somehow didn't think this case would still be unsolved when he arrived at CSI again that night.

(H/C)

Calleigh studied the body on Alexx's table. 50 years. He would have been married for 50 years tomorrow. It personalized him, making it harder to watch somehow. She looked back up at Alexx, distracting herself. "Any sign of other wounds?"

"No. One's all it takes. He never had a chance. Poor man." The ME addressed the body as she washed the blood off his chest. "Walked into something that didn't even involve you. Are you okay, honey?"

Calleigh didn't even try to deny that anything was wrong. "It's just harder to watch this one somehow. He would have been married 50 years tomorrow."

Alexx stopped, jolted herself. "Poor man. Poor woman. Is anyone with her?"

Calleigh nodded. "Some good friends are over there now." Her eyes strayed back to the body, as much as she was trying not to focus on it. "Horatio said he wrote a song for his wife. An anniversary song. He was going to conduct it at the concert tomorrow." Alexx winced. "I'm glad Horatio isn't down here. It would be even harder for him. He had to be one of the last people who talked to Tom. He was at the rehearsal last night, you know."

Alexx nodded. "Where is he?"

"He went up to his office to see if Chris had left a preliminary report on the scene. Alexx, how did Horatio handle that trial last week?"

Alexx looked up at her, suddenly switching her analysis from the dead to the living. "It wasn't easy on him. He was on the stand for two complete days. But the trial went well, and the defense attorney didn't shake him. Horatio was confident in the verdict, even before it came in. So I'd call it stressful but closure, too. Justice done on a difficult case. Why do you ask?"

"I'm not sure, but he just seems like something's bothering him lately, a little stressed out. Now, of course, he's blaming himself for Tom, but even before this case got so intense, he's seemed a bit edgy this week. He hasn't talked about it, but I'll be glad when he can get a vacation himself. I think he needs one." Calleigh broke off with an annoyed edge to her voice. "What's so funny?"

Alexx choked the laughter back. "I'm sorry, sugar. I'm just surprised you hadn't worked it out yourself. Then again, maybe I'm not."

"Worked what out?" The annoyance was rising.

"It isn't the trial, Calleigh. Yes, he's a bit stressed at the moment, but by far the most stressful thing that's happened to him the last week is the possibility of losing you and Rosalind in that wreck Monday night."

Calleigh's mouth dropped open, then slowly shut. "I can't believe I hadn't thought of that."

Alexx smiled at her. "You underrate yourself, Calleigh. You're worth caring about. Horatio is just a bit jolted at the moment, but more grateful than ever of what he has, too. As for why he hasn't discussed it with you, you ought to be able to answer that one yourself."

Calleigh nodded. "Because I was shaken up myself, and he didn't want to add anything more to what I was dealing with."

"Bull's eye." Alexx's gloved hands were busy, but she touched Calleigh with her smile. "He'll be fine, Calleigh. I'm not saying he doesn't need a vacation; he needed one even before the trial or the wreck. But what he needs most is just days of being a family, convincing himself it's still there. And how are you doing?"

"Better. I can drive, at least. We're going shopping for a new car this weekend." Her voice trailed off for a minute. "Maybe. I don't think Horatio's going to stop working on this one until it's solved. It's personal now."

Alexx nodded. "Let's hope it's cleared up quickly. For him, for you, and for that poor wife." She extracted the bullet with the forceps. "There you are. Go get him."

Calleigh held out the container, and Alexx dropped the bullet in. "We will. Thanks, Alexx. For everything."

Alexx smiled at her. "Just doing my job." She did feel like the unpaid counselor for CSI at times, but she wouldn't have wanted to give up that role any more than her official one. Calleigh walked out of the room with determination but with a lighter step than when she had entered, and Alexx turned her attention back to the body of Thomas Schaeffer, who would have been married 50 years tomorrow. She squeezed her eyes shut for a minute in gratitude for her own family, then blinked back the tears and picked up the scalpel again. "Just doing my job." Crooning reassuringly to the body, she resumed her task.

(H/C)

By late morning, Speed was getting more and more frustrated. Chemical analysis. Super glue. Trace. Checking for prints, even though cut stones were a horrible surface to retain them. He'd tried everything he could think of so far on this necklace, and the sum total of his findings was that it had traces of squashed M & Ms on one stone, undoubtedly a contribution from Matt. With a sigh, Speed stared at the necklace laying on the lab table and the evidence envelope next to it. The lawyers were going to love the chain of custody on this one. That was assuming it was worth taking into court in the first place. This necklace had been worth killing for; why wasn't it worth analyzing? He scowled at the uncooperative necklace, then suddenly stopped as a thought tickled the back of his mind. Quickly moving to the other files from the case, he pulled out Eric's original photos from the convention center, finding the picture found in Sam's room. Once it was put side by side with the original, the slight difference jumped out at him.

"Speed, what have you got?" Horatio materialized from thin air behind him, and Speed jumped. He turned to face his supervisor.

"Nothing so far, H. There is absolutely nothing remarkable about this necklace. It's just fancy rocks."

Calleigh, at Horatio's side, looked at him in disbelief. "Nothing?"

"Nothing. And that's because this isn't quite the one the perp was after. Look." He moved aside so they could all see the necklace and the picture laid out on the table.

"It's the same heart pendant on a slightly different chain," Calleigh said quickly.

Horatio nodded. "Sarah said there was something different about the picture, but she couldn't pin it down. I'll bet Sam switched the chains when he exchanged necklaces. He liked this chain better than the original. He probably noted buying a chain along with the new necklace in the missing sales log, but the perp didn't think anything of it, and we never saw that ledger. This perp is a middleman. He was sent after a necklace, probably didn't know exactly what was special about it himself." He turned to Speed. "You know what's next."

"Road trip," the trace expert grumbled. "Back to the jewelry store, and then try to find the original chain in all that. A whole afternoon looking at jewelry. Sure you don't want this assignment, Calleigh?"

Horatio gave him a thin smile. "Look at it this way, the DA will be a lot happier with chain of evidence. The jewelry store is still sealed up."

Speed wasn't consoled. "So not only did I waste my time first thing this morning on that bug, I wasted the rest of the morning on this necklace, and neither one of them is good for anything in this case."

Horatio's expression changed suddenly. "Actually, you're wrong. I think between them, they might have solved it." He quickly picked up the necklace, replaced it in its envelope, then sorted through the other envelopes to find the one containing the bug. "Come on, Cal. It's time to take this one off the streets." He spun smoothly and left the lab with Calleigh hurrying after him. Speed was left staring at the photo. With a sigh, he picked it up and headed out to spend the afternoon looking at jewelry.

(H/C)

Sarah sat next to Sam's bedside, his hand in hers. She moved her fingers slightly up his wrist to feel the current of the river of life. Such a thin flutter, so small to be the difference between life and death. Around her, the instruments beeped reassuringly, but she trusted the evidence beneath her fingers more. Sam was still with her. Not like Tom.

Tears welled up again in her eyes, and she blinked them back. It shouldn't happen that someone could be real and with you one evening, then suddenly dead a few hours later. A wave of fury against the criminal welled up in her, almost overpowering the guilt. Horatio would catch him, but nothing would be undone, and somehow, at the root of it, she knew that the events of this week had been her fault. If she hadn't let her cell phone run down Monday, none of this would have happened. Sam would be talking and laughing with her instead of lying white and silent in the ICU, and Tom would be conducting Circle of Starlight tomorrow for Lynella.

By long habit, her mind sought expression, if not comfort, through music, and she started singing very softly. The girl in the next cubicle had improved and had been moved out of the ICU, and Sam was unresponsive as ever. Sarah was singing now just for herself.

"If you would comfort me, sing me a lullaby.

If you would win my heart, sing me a love song.

If you would mourn me and bring me to God,

Sing me a requiem. Sing me to heaven."

Thinking of Tom and Lynella, her voice broke and trailed off, and the tears slid silently down her face. She bent her head, trying to hide them from the guards at the door. She didn't even feel the fingers move in her own until the second squeeze.

"Don't stop."

Her head snapped up, and her watery gaze met Sam's eyes, open and slightly blurry and confused but concerned. "What's wrong, Sarah? Why did you stop singing?"

"Sam!" She quickly reached over to push the nurse call. "Are you okay? How do you feel?"

A slight frown creased his bandaged forehead. "Tired. I've got a headache. What's wrong, Sarah?"

She wiped the tears from her eyes as the nurse entered the room. "Nothing. Everything is going to be okay now." She was lying, and they both knew it. Twins cannot lie to each other.

The nurse bent over Sam, checking his pupils, asking questions, and Sarah held tightly to his hand. Her prayers had been answered, but what about Lynella's? She fought back a fresh wave of tears, and Sam kept looking back toward her instead of focusing on the disapproving nurse. The nurse finally left to page the doctor, and Sarah scooted her chair closer to Sam's bedside. "What happened, Sarah?" His voice was weak but persistent.

"You were in a car accident. Don't you remember that?"

He shook his head, then winced at the motion. "No. Was anybody else hurt?"

She pushed back the thought of Tom. He was asking about the accident, not the week. "No. The other people involved are fine."

"There was something I needed to tell you, but I can't quite remember. It was important." His eyes were falling shut again.

"It's okay, Sam," she reassured him. "Your message got through. It's okay."

"Why are you so sad?" His eyes were completely closed now.

"I'll tell you later, okay? You need to rest. You really were hurt badly."

He reluctantly accepted the postponement. "Sing to me. I heard you singing to me a few times, but I couldn't seem to open my eyes." He opened them again. "I heard you, though. I heard your music."

She smiled at him. "Okay. I'll sing then if you rest." She picked up the song where she had left off, emotions warring in her, thoughts of Sam in a tug-of-war with thoughts of Tom, the song easily expressing both.

"Touch in me grief and comfort,

Love and passion, pain and pleasure.

Sing me a lullaby, a love song, a requiem.

Love me, comfort me, bring me to God.

Sing me to heaven."

"Beautiful," came a soft voice from the doorway, and Sarah jumped.

"Oh, hi, Horatio. Hi, Calleigh. I didn't hear you come in."

They came up to the other side of the bed, looking at Sam. "How is he today?"

"A lot better. He even woke up for a few minutes. I was just singing him back to sleep." Her eyes locked with theirs, making it a direct communication. "He's a little foggy on what happened in the wreck and before, though. He just knew it was something important. I told him the message had been delivered."

The message was delivered loud and clear, and Horatio didn't go on to discuss details of the case in front of Sam, even if he seemed to be sleeping. "Could I talk to you outside for a few minutes, Sarah? You could probably use a break, and I think you might be able to help us."

"Anything I can do. Just a minute; let me tell Sam." She shook his shoulder gently. "Sam? Sam, can you wake up a minute for me?" Slowly, the eyes opened. "I'm going to take a break now that I know you're better, okay? I'm going for a cup of coffee with some friends, but I'll be back soon to see you again."

His slightly out-of-focus eyes tracked from her to Horatio and Calleigh. He didn't recognize them. "They're friends?"

"Good friends." That wasn't a lie, and he took her word for it.

"Okay. Take care of yourself. See you later." His eyelids dropped closed again.

Sarah gave his hand a final squeeze and stood up. Horatio nodded to her guard at the door, and the guard ambled off for a break himself. Sarah followed Horatio and Calleigh to a quiet corner of the hall outside the ICU, and there, Horatio laid out his plan.

(H/C)

"Hi, Maria." Sarah wondered if her voice was too bright and forced, and she looked uncertainly at Horatio and Calleigh. They smiled at her reassuringly. "I've got great news. Sam woke up late this morning. It looks like he's going to be okay."

Maria's initial surprise at her friend's tone evaporated. "That's great, Sarah. Really. I'm happy for you. Um, you did hear about Tom, right?"

"Yes." Sarah's tone fell flat. "I can't believe it. The police think he surprised some random burglar when he went back in." Maria hesitated, and Sarah pushed on. "There have been a lot of burglaries lately, and there might be valuable things left in a church. Tom was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's their theory, anyway. By the way, the police think the break-in at my place was just a burglar looking for anything, too. I'm back home now. I found my necklace, too. I'd just misplaced it somewhere. You know me. Sam always says I'd lose my head if it wasn't attached."

"Are you all right, Sarah? You sound a bit . . ."

Sarah cut Maria off before she could finish. "It's just been a stressful day, with Tom and all. Stressful week. Like I said, I'm home now, and now that I know Sam is okay, I think I'll just go to bed and sleep for hours."

"Good idea; you probably need it. I'm really glad about Sam, Sarah. Let me know if you need anything, okay?"

"I will. Thanks, Maria. See you tomorrow at the concert."

"See you then. Bye."

Sarah hung up the phone and looked at Horatio with concern. "Was that okay?"

"Wonderful," he said. "You got everything in there that we wanted."

"Are you sure this bug can't hear us now?"

"No, it's just activated when the phone is picked up. There's probably a receiver and booster in a tree outside, but we never got down to looking for it. It will broadcast the signal on to somewhere, and hopefully, we'll have company soon."

"He might not come right away. He might wait until night."

"I think he'll come as soon as he hears that call. He did tackle you in daylight at the hospital, and he thinks you'll be alone and asleep this afternoon. I think he's under pressure from whoever wants the necklace, and he's also spooked for whatever reason from last night. He's in the perfect frame of mind to think that maybe he did just miss the necklace searching here and maybe there could be a quick end to this."

"Meanwhile," Calleigh said, "let's eat these sandwiches we picked up. It's past lunch time." Horatio and Sarah both looked at her blankly, like eating was a foreign concept. "Sit. Both of you." They sat in Sarah's bedroom and ate the sandwiches silently. Sarah fingered the necklace, which she was wearing, and the silence lengthened along with their wait.

"You know," Horatio speculated, "since it must be the chain that matters, the big mistake this week was by Sanchez overlooking the original chain at the jewelry store. You losing the necklace didn't make any difference. It was his mistake that changed the week."

"He might have discovered the mistake faster," Sarah insisted. "And then Tom would still be alive."

Calleigh firmly stepped into the middle of this before Horatio could blame himself again for leading the perp to the church. "You two are quite a set, you know it? The reason Tom is dead and everything that's happened this week happened is because some men are criminals and have no morals or regard for life. Nothing either one of you ever do is going to change that fact."

Sarah considered it for a minute. "You saved me, though," she said. "They would have killed me this week if it hadn't been for you. Thanks, both of you."

Horatio smiled at her. "Just doing our jobs. It is nice to know you make a difference now and then, though. And you're right, Cal. We can't be responsible for what the criminals do." Calleigh hoped he was addressing himself as well as Sarah, but she wasn't sure.

Horatio's cell phone rang, and he answered it. "Horatio. Okay, Tripp. We're ready." He pushed the end button and smoothly pulled his gun from its holster. "Tripp just heard from the officers hiding at the end of the street. Sanchez just entered the block. Tripp's in position in the back. Sarah, stay clear and don't come out until I call you." Sarah retreated into the closet, and Horatio and Calleigh took up positions on either side of the door. In the bed, a roll of pillows and blankets simulated a human form.

There was a scratch from the front door, like a large rat gnawing, and then footsteps approached. Soft but quick and not-quite-steady footsteps, accompanied by quick and not-quite-steady breathing. Sanchez hesitated at the bedroom doorway, eyes quickly finding the form under the covers. His breath released in a hiss of satisfaction, and he slipped forward, hand going to his pocket. He never made it. Two guns firmly tapped him on the sides of his head, and Horatio's steel voice backed up the threat. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you. Take your hand out of your pocket." Sanchez unfroze and slowly pulled his hand out. Calleigh reached into the pocket, withdrawing the gun, as Tripp and the backup officers came up behind them. Calleigh looked at the gun briefly and rolled her eyes.

"Has this thing been cleaned this year? Bad housekeeping, Sanchez. What's wrong, did you lose your primary gun at a murder scene?"

Sanchez flinched. The guns pressing into his head didn't. "Hands behind your back," Horatio snapped, and Sanchez obeyed as Tripp clicked the cuffs into place. "Carlos Sanchez, you are under arrest for two counts of murder, one count of assault, and two counts of burglary. So far. Come on out, Sarah."

Sarah exited the closet and walked straight up to Sanchez, head held high. His nervous eyes immediately found her necklace, glistening in the afternoon light from the window, a mere two feet in front of him and forever out of his reach. Sarah glared at him. "I don't guess you'd let me hit him, would you?"

Calleigh shook her head. "It's against the rules, I'm afraid, but we'll hit him for you in court."

"And that," Horatio commented, "will hurt him a lot longer. Let's get him back to HQ."

(H/C)

Sanchez swallowed nervously and stared at his hands. "The gun was stolen," he tried weakly, but he didn't even sound convincing to himself.

"Your fingerprints stolen along with it?" Tripp asked.

Horatio ticked off the evidence on his fingers. "Your fingerprints have been found in Sarah's house and on the gun last night. Your fingernail was retrieved from Sarah after the assault at the hospital. Your shoe tread matches the shoe tread from a smashed monitor at the jewelry store. Residue from your shoes matches that found at the jewelry store and Sarah's, and your shoes have traces of blood from Tom Schaeffer. Your gun is an exact match for the weapon that killed both Hermann and Tom. Your fingerprints are on the cell phone that was found at the scene. You are going down for this, Sanchez, and your only hope is to make a deal and sell out whoever you were working for."

Sanchez shifted uneasily in the seat. "I don't know his name," he said softly. "I just have a cell phone number. I do jobs for a lot of people." Horatio's expression at the word jobs made him flinch back, as if from a physical blow.

"You met him, didn't you? For exchanges and such? You met him at the jewelry conference Monday." Tripp closed the distance a bit, and Sanchez's nervous eyes tracked from Horatio to Tripp, then back.

"I was delivering another package to someone else at the conference, and when he found out about it, he said he'd just meet me there to give me the picture. Just picking up a necklace. I'd done it before for him."

"Four times this year, in fact," Horatio stated, and Sanchez jumped.

"How'd you know that?"

"I'm smarter than you." It was Horatio's turn to close the distance ever so slightly, more a psychological advance than a physical one, but Sanchez felt it. "I know you met this man in a corner in the hotel lobby, next to a large potted plant. He told you the time and place for the pickup and gave you a picture of the necklace, and he said this was an especially big job, so you'd better do it right."

"Where were you?" Sanchez was staring at him.

Horatio went on. "I know you've spent this last week frantically looking for that necklace, and I know last night, at the church, you shot Tom Schaeffer in cold blood. He wasn't even involved, Sanchez. You shot him just because he was there, and then you walked up calmly to make sure he was dead." He trailed off there. Sanchez's expression had changed, his face losing all color. "What happened then, Sanchez? What spooked you?"

The man's lips tightened, and he shook his head in denial. Horatio recognized a stone wall. Whatever it was, Sanchez was terrified just thinking about it, and he didn't intend to share it. Not because he didn't want to tell them, but because he didn't want to revisit it himself. What had happened there?

Tripp stepped into the silence as Horatio was thinking. "Anybody else working with you?"

"No." Sanchez was relieved to escape the memory of the church, and he answered Tripp's question almost eagerly.

"This man you were doing the pickup for. Could you identify him from a photo?" Eric had a list of conference attendees and addresses, and photos could be pulled up from driver's licenses.

"Yes." Sanchez was helpful now, willing to talk about anything except last night.

Horatio spoke up again. "This man was from the Miami area? Did you usually meet him here?"

"Yes. We always met in public places. He said it was less conspicuous than sneaking around. I have his number, but it's just a cell phone."

"Prepaid, probably," Horatio said. "I'm sure it will be quite interesting to run your cell phone calls, though, since you did 'jobs' for a lot of people. You can probably make several deals with the DA, Sanchez. Might even save yourself from the death penalty and just get prison instead."

Calleigh spoke up, asking the question that Horatio would never ask. "How did you get to the church last night? Why were you looking for the necklace there?" Horatio's stunned look met hers, hurt that she wanted it voiced, and she gave him back a smile with all the confidence and love she could package into it. He might not trust himself, but she trusted him, and she knew he could not have been followed last night without noticing it.

Sanchez didn't even notice the interplay between them. He was talkative now, willing to cooperate. "It was on a list." His hand went to his pocket, and every officer in the room snapped to attention. "Easy. You all searched me, remember? Just getting my wallet out." He withdrew the wallet and took out a folded piece of paper which he put on the table. Calleigh unfolded it, and Tripp and Horatio leaned over to read it along with her. The list was in Sarah's handwriting, and it was helpfully titled, "Places I might have lost my necklace." Her subconscious had served her well. Heading the list was the church, name given, followed in parentheses by "SFS rehearsal."

Horatio's eyes met Calleigh's. "Sarah recopied her list for me," he said softly. This was obviously the original, jottings as places came to mind, much less neat than the one she had given Horatio.

"And this one was in her purse," Calleigh finished. "It wasn't you." There was no vindication in him, though, only sympathetic sadness as he realized that it was Sarah herself who had led Sanchez to the place where Tom had been killed.

His head abruptly came up, and the pinpoints of fire lit in his eyes. Where Tom had been killed. His mind racing, he recreated the scene, filling in the details of the church. Sanchez shooting Tom, walking up the aisle to him, stepping to the side of the body, bending over. "Horatio?" Calleigh was puzzled, seeing the leap but not following it.

Horatio turned smoothly back to Sanchez, absolutely confident now. He knew. "Last night, Sanchez, you walked up the aisle to Tom, holding your flashlight in one hand and the gun in the other. The auditorium was dark. When you stopped beside him, turned toward him, and bent over, the edge of the flashlight caught something at the front of the church, didn't it?" Sanchez cringed, his eyes widening, again seeing something beyond this small room. "At the front of the auditorium, there's a cross on the wall. What did you see there, Sanchez?"

The little man crumpled like the ashes of burned paper, all pretense of strength disintegrating. "He was looking at me!"

Tripp shook his head, picturing the church from his investigations that day. It was just an empty cross, a large wooden cross on the front wall. Probably some trick of the flashlight, although he was surprised it had spooked a hardened criminal like this. "Who was looking at you?"

"He was!" Sanchez's hands knotted into each other, almost as if in agitated prayer. "Something was up there, on that cross. He was looking straight at me. My mother said he'd see me. Never believed her. All these years, I never believed her. All these jobs. I've killed others, but not in a church. I bent over the man and looked up, and he was up there. It was different." He shook his head, fighting the memory. "He wouldn't stop looking at me, and I knew it. I shouldn't have killed in a church. He saw this one."

Horatio straightened up. "He saw all of them, Sanchez. He saw all of them." He nodded to the officer in the corner. "We'll be back to see you later with some photos. Book him." He and Calleigh left the interview room, leaving behind them a broken and guilty man.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Thanks to the FF net reviewers for comments on Swan Song and for the personal wishes. This chapter is for you. Only one chapter left after this one; story will be completely posted by Christmas. For those who aren't aware of it yet, I now have a homepage of sorts. It's listed on my profile.

A/N 2: Many, many thanks to a technological friend of mine for a quick course in microchip 101. This is not my field. Any errors that crept in in spite of his microchip advice are purely mine.

Musical Notes: "When I Hear Music" was composed by a man named Martin, but unfortunately, I can't track it beyond that. The concert containing that song was two years ago, and while the program identifies the composer as Martin, I was unable to find a copy of the music for more details. That particular song was borrowed (conductors have a loan system that rivals that among libraries), and our director couldn't remember where he borrowed it after so long. No luck on internet searches; the title is too general, and it doesn't realize I mean a specific song instead of separate words. I don't believe it's the same Martin who wrote "the Awakening," as the stylistic signature just strikes me as different. Anyhow, many apologies to Mr. Martin for being unable to provide all details, but the song is a beautiful one. It is a memory, probably a lover's memory, of a dead beloved, running over all the ways that he touched her life, finally coming to the bittersweet conclusion of "I'll sing on" in his memory, although without him. Musically, it is sad but positive with the memories, not a complex song but an emotional one, starting distant, working closer, looking forward at the end, returning at the very end after the resolution to the simple line from earlier repeated quietly, "I think of you."

(H/C)

"You set my life to music. . .

When I hear music, I think of you."

"When I Hear Music," Martin

(H/C)

Speed shifted into a more comfortable slouch on his lab stool and stared at the chain, comparing it again with the picture. This was definitely the original chain, although he'd seen more jewelry than he'd wanted to see in a lifetime while looking for it. How could there be enough people in the world who wanted to buy all that? And at the prices . . . he shook his head and got down to work.

Studying the pictures of the necklace Sarah now had and looking at the chain, he had to admit that Sam had made a wise choice in switching them. The chain on Sarah's necklace was a finer design and suited the stones better, even though it had one of those trick clasps that pretended to be fastened when it wasn't, probably the cause of Sarah's losing it. This original chain was heavier and coarser, not nearly as attractive, and the clasp on it was one of those round cylinders that screwed together. Speed started with the clasp first, as an obvious potential hiding place, but with his luck today, he wasn't expecting it to be that easy, and he couldn't believe it when, barely 2 minutes after he started analysis, a tiny silver device was extracted with tweezers from the inside of the clasp. A microchip.

"Hey, that's a microchip." Eric came into the room behind him, placing several evidence envelopes on the table.

"Thanks," Speed retorted. "So glad you told me that."

"What's on it?"

"I don't know yet. I just this minute started on the chain. Do you know how many chains were in that jewelry store?"

Eric grinned. "And you started at the wrong end of the stock checking them, didn't you?" Speed nodded. "See, you should have started at the opposite end from where you wanted to. Murphy's law; it had to be there."

"The thing is, I did start at the opposite end from where I wanted. I was right the first time." Eric laughed. "Don't you have anything to do yourself besides telling me what I should have done today?"

Eric's expression suddenly went serious. "The last of the evidence from the church. A lot of it was here already. I heard H caught the guy."

Speed nodded. "He's dissecting him right now." He looked at the disassembled clasp on his table and almost pitied the perp for a brief moment, imagining the blue lasers that were H's eyes taking the man apart just as Speed's tweezers had torn up the chain. Shaking off the image, he got down to work, and Eric at the next table did the same.

The microchip, appropriate to the name, was tiny, about the size of a grain of rice. The small size told Speed that it was probably a passive chip. Active microchips contained their own internal power supply and were larger. They could both read and write data, send out a signal, be read from a greater distance, and hold much more information. Passive microchips had no internal power supply, only a transponder that received a signal from a transceiver on the correct specific frequency, and they were only readable by a correctly set transceiver at a very close range. Even the smaller passive chips could contain up to 128 bits of data, though. The problem was going to be identifying this one's specific RFID tag or radio frequency identification tag, since there were no global rules on UHF frequency for microchip readers. Different countries had different usual ranges, but nothing was official. Speed was simply going to have to set up a transceiver to run through the possible frequencies until hitting on the correct one. He sighed. Maybe his luck today wasn't changing.

(H/C)

Horatio's cell phone demanded his attention, and he reluctantly glanced away from the driver's license records of the conference attendees to give it. He didn't recognize the number. "Horatio."

"This is Lieutenant Caine?" It was a soft, tired, Hispanic voice.

"Yes. Who is this?" Calleigh glanced up from her own computer, and he shrugged slightly.

"This is Paul Delgado." It took a second for the name to click. Of course, the senior assistant from the jewelry store. Mrs. Delgado's Paulo, who was off rafting the Colorado River with their problem son. "My raft group just landed today, and I had a message from my wife to call you."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Delgado. Did your wife inform you that Mr. Hermann had been murdered?"

"Yes." The voice was the same, soft, weary. This man was too jaded with his own failures and problems to spare much thought for his employer.

"I wanted to ask you about the procedure for checking in inventory. Were there ever any packages that you were supposed to hand on to Mr. Hermann unopened?"

There was a moment for thought, and then the voice plodded on. "Anything marked personal, of course. Also, he told me that if anything ever had the H in Hermann's Jewelry underlined, to hand that to him, too. I didn't see many of those."

"None recently?"

Another pause. "No."

Horatio left it there. "Thank you, Mr. Delgado." He hesitated for a moment, fighting a sudden impulse to wish the man luck with his wayward son and loveless marriage, but he mastered it. "Have a good afternoon." He snapped the phone shut and looked over to meet Calleigh's eyes. "Have I told you today that I love you?"

"Yes. I don't mind hearing it again, though. Why?"

"Oh, lots of reasons. Your eyes, your smile, your . . ."

"Horatio, much as I enjoy the inventory, I meant why did you ask? That wasn't spontaneous. The call reminded you of it somehow."

"Just remembering that picture in the Delgado house." He didn't have to specify which one or go any further; she remembered it just as vividly as he did.

"No love at all, just tiredness but being convinced that nothing's ever going to get better. No passion." She shuddered slightly. "We'll never be like that. And I love you too, Handsome."

He crinkled his eyes at her. "Back to the call, Delgado says that he had orders to not open anything marked personal and also anything with the H in Hermann's Jewelry underlined."

Calleigh grinned. "You guessed that. Remember?" He didn't and just looked at her blankly. "Never mind, Horatio. That had to be the packages with whatever they were smuggling along with jewelry."

"Right. I can't imagine writing personal on a shipment of illegal goods. Too attention getting. Also, Delgado said that there weren't many with the H underlined. None that he remembered lately, but he was gone from the store that Wednesday afternoon. Sam had to open the package with the necklace. He didn't know."

Calleigh nodded. "Do you think Sam will ever recover enough memory to testify?"

Horatio turned back to his computer. "It doesn't matter. The evidence will testify for him. I'll bet when we search Sanchez's place thoroughly, we'll find that missing register from the store."

"When are we going to search Sanchez's place?"

"Just as soon as we catch the top man and get them both off the streets. Give me two hours." He turned back to the computer, continuing to run driver's license pictures on the Miami residents who had attended the conference so that Sanchez could identify the man who had hired him.. Calleigh resumed her own search on her half of the names, but she did glance at her watch first, not in challenge but for future confirmation.

(H/C)

Horatio was 30 minutes inside his time limit when he, Calleigh, and Tripp rang the bell outside a medium-sized but not overly-elaborate home. This man concealed his illegal income much better than Hermann had.

The door opened. "Yes? May I help you, officers?" The man straightened slightly at the sight of the badges, no fear at all, just the normal reaction of an everyday loyal citizen. Calleigh, watching the performance, was impressed with his acting ability.

"Preston Hamilton?" Tripp stepped forward. Horatio, to one side, was fiddling with something in his pocket.

"Yes. Is there a problem?"

At that moment, the man's cell phone rang. Frowning slightly, he pulled it out of an inner pocket, even though he had another, silent cell phone on his belt. He eyed the caller ID, then answered it with a smile of excuse at Tripp. "Hello there. Are we going to be able to meet tonight after all?" The voice was perfectly casual, the eyes relaxed. This man was good.

Horatio was better. He pulled Sanchez's prepaid cell phone out of his pocket, the phone on which he had just dialed the number of another prepaid cell phone, the number Sanchez had identified as that of his superior. "Actually, I believe that can be arranged."

Hamilton's casual expression froze on his face, then slowly cracked and fell away as Tripp stepped forward to apply the cuffs.

(H/C)

Speed held the reader over the microchip, trying his 178th setting. It was starting to look like a long night. Unexpectedly, the screen lit up with numbers, unlocking the data, and he studied them. The information on the microchip was brief, but he realized after a few minutes exactly what it must be, and it was certainly, to the criminal mind, worth killing for. Quickly, he pushed himself away from the table and, holding the chip and the reader, went to find Horatio.

(H/C)

Horatio was standing, deliberately using his height to symbolize his advantage over the seated Hamilton. "What were you doing, Hamilton? We'll find out anyway. Was it drug-related? Fencing stolen merchandise?" There was the faintest flicker there, and then the stony expression returned, or at least the ghost of it. Hamilton's only words since arriving at HQ had been, "I want to see my lawyer."

"Don't answer that," the lawyer stated. Hamilton had no intention of it.

"Fencing stolen merchandise, then. Thank you," Horatio said silkily. "What sort of merchandise?" Speed tapped on the window of the interrogation room. "Excuse me," Horatio said politely, and he slipped out, shadowed by Calleigh. "Speed, what have you got?"

"It's a microchip, H. Couldn't find you around earlier, but I guess you were busy." Speed glanced at the interrogation room. "It took me over an hour to find the right frequency, anyway. It's a series of bank account numbers and pass codes, I'm positive. We just have to find the right bank. I'd try Switzerland first."

"Bank account numbers," Horatio mused. "And then he could milk the income out in small bits as he needed, or just leave it there. So that was payment for what Hamilton sent, only he didn't want direct association with the sender. Probably, he had another jeweler or somebody sending whatever he sold. A nice method of exchange, and nobody without the right reader frequency could pick up on it. Very easy to slip through inspections. Now what could fit on a microchip?"

"A good bit, especially if he was sending active ones, and it's growing all the time. Moore's law states that the amount of data a microchip can hold doubles every year or at least 18 months," Speed quoted.

Horatio stared back into the interrogation room himself. "Hamilton does work in the jewelry field, which is why he was at that conference, but he might have a partner. Someone technological, maybe, to program whatever they sell onto chips, while he designs jewelry to send them both ways."

Calleigh nodded. "And never the same piece twice, to avoid somebody in customs or such happening to remember it. He might even have had other jewelers like Hermann who received for him, so no one of them got all of the business. I think I'll check on Tyler's background screen on Hamilton. Maybe he has a relative who works at a microchip company."

Speed shook his head. "Too obvious."

"Maybe not," Horatio said. "All his efforts were aimed at avoiding being personally under suspicion in the microchip exchange. He might not have a secondary line of defense, because he never expected to be caught. That's a great idea, Calleigh. Let me know if Tyler comes up with anything." He reentered the interrogation room so quickly that he surprised those outside as much as those in. "So, Mr. Hamilton, have you opened any Swiss bank accounts lately? Or, shall we say, had any opened by someone else and the numbers sent to you? Must have been an especially large deposit this time, wasn't it?" Hamilton's spine stiffened like he had just received a jolt of electricity. "What was on the microchips you sent or had sent, Hamilton? Technological secrets? Who do you know in a technological field? Who's your partner?"

The lawyer snapped his briefcase closed and stood up. "This browbeating has gone far enough. This interrogation is over."

Horatio shook his head. "No, actually, I was just getting warmed up. You might as well tell us, Hamilton. My people are finding it out anyway."

"Don't say anything," the lawyer said. "The only thing they've got on you is the identification of a criminal for hire."

"And possession of the prepaid cell phone of the man who hired him," Horatio added. "Not to mention the microchip."

"You can't tie the microchip to me," Hamilton protested, breaking his silence, and Horatio shook his head slightly.

"Don't you mean, 'what microchip?'"

Hamilton pressed his lips together to prevent any further outbursts, and his lawyer, starting purposefully for the door with a nod to his client, ran smack into Calleigh on her way in. She marched past him and addressed her husband. "Horatio, I'm afraid we're going to have to hand Hamilton over to another investigator."

He played along, trusting her. "Why is that, Calleigh?"

"His brother works in a company that designs missile-guidance systems. If he and Mr. Hamilton have been selling secrets from his work on microchips to someone overseas, this is obviously a matter for the Department of Homeland Security. We'll have to settle with Sanchez for murder and let the feds take apart Mr. Hamilton and his brother, as well as tracking the overseas connection."

Horatio turned to look at Hamilton, who was wilting like an unwatered flower in July. "Anything you care to say, Mr. Hamilton?"

Hamilton stared at the table, all pretense gone. Horatio turned back to Calleigh, and even though it wasn't directed at her, she still flinched at the sudden anger in his eyes. His voice, as always, was perfectly calm, icy calm. "Come on, Cal. We have a call to make."

(H/C)

Horatio hung up the phone in his office and stared at the instrument. His hands were actually shaking slightly. Calleigh came around the desk to touch him. "If they don't need Sanchez as a witness, if the rest of the physical evidence is good enough, which I think it will be, we can have Sanchez. They just want Hamilton and his brother."

"It's over, Horatio." Her grip tightened around him. "The case is over, and we're all fine."

He looked up at her for the first time since hanging up the phone. "You could have been killed because of him, Calleigh. You and Rosalind both."

She kissed him. "I know, Horatio. But we weren't. And he didn't get away with it. You caught him."

"We caught him," he corrected. He leaned into her slightly. "I was so scared Monday night."

"So was I," she said. Her hand made soothing circles on his back. "Horatio, I was thinking, why don't we take a drive up the coast Sunday, just the three of us, just to spend some time together as a family." His hands had stopped shaking, but she knew it would take a little longer for his soul to do the same. She hadn't fully recovered herself yet. They would get past it together.

He smiled faintly. "I'd like that." He pulled her head down to return her kiss, and there was nothing faint about his actions now, or about her response to them. There was only love and passion and being alive.

(H/C)

Calleigh smiled, taking a mental picture as Horatio knelt down to get on more or less eye level with their daughter. It was Saturday morning, and while a good night's sleep couldn't fix everything, it had certainly helped. "You pick one, Rosalind. Okay?"

The child stepped back and tilted her head slightly in echo of her father, eyeing the three Jeeps in front of them. They had decided on a similar Jeep to Calleigh's old one after all, leaving only the color to be debated. Rosalind's analytical look was so familiar that Calleigh burst out laughing, and Horatio, missing the joke, quirked an eyebrow at her. Rosalind ran forward and tapped one on the front bumper.

"Why that one, Angel?" Calleigh was curious.

Her daughter looked up at her, Horatio's eyes but without Horatio's shadows behind them, young and still innocent. "Birds."

"Blue, like some birds," Horatio translated unnecessarily. He grinned. "The first time I picked a car myself, I picked it because it was the color of a plane, silver, so I could fly away on it. Didn't quite work, but I remember the thought. What was your reason, Cal?"

She smiled at her family. "I remember the first one I wanted after I came to Miami. It was exactly the color of your eyes, and I just couldn't buy it. I was afraid everybody would see the resemblance and especially that you would. I got something else perfectly innocent, but I drove back by the lot every day or two to watch that car. I hated the day they sold it." She smiled suddenly at the newly-selected Jeep. "Actually, Rosalind, I kind of like this color. It's the same one." She stared at it suddenly. "I swear, it is the same. I didn't even see it at first."

Horatio came over to wrap an arm around her. "I didn't, either. I'm sorry you had to wait for everything, Calleigh."

She turned her face up to him. "It was worth it." They were just settling into the kiss when their daughter impatiently chimed in from where she was tugging at the Jeep's door handle.

"Mama, dada, do straps! Go!"

They were laughing as they broke apart.

(H/C)

Lynella sat in the chair, staring at years of memories. Tom proposing to her in a song he had written. Tom, tall and handsome, at the end of the aisle waiting for her, and the feeling of resentment that her father wouldn't walk her fast enough to get to him. Their children. Joy, laughter, and shared sorrows. Fights and making up from fights. She gave a watery smile on the last thought. As strong willed as they both were, there had been many fights, but in 50 years, she couldn't recall either one of them ever turning to the door to leave, even temporarily. They both always knew that what they had was worth staying for. Even in a fight, the commitment had never wavered.

His music. She remembered his music, the early struggles, the success, the constant appreciation of the success, like a kid at Christmas, never quite able to believe that the recognition was real and was for him. He had never lost the thrill of selling a new work. She remembered the students over a professional lifetime, many of them coming back years later in gratitude to say how much his belief in them coupled with his challenges had made a difference. So many songs. So many memories.

She suddenly remembered his own words from just a few nights before, when he was talking about Circle of Starlight being his last composition. "I didn't choose it, Lynn, but everything has to end sometime. We can either regret it and pine for more that won't come, or we can appreciate the wholeness of what was." She turned sideways, curling up in the chair, burying her face against the padded back of it. He had been her life. She appreciated the wholeness, but how could she go on without him?

Gradually, the tears stopped. She wondered how she could possibly be able to cry again after getting through the last few days. Surely the well of tears must run dry at some point, but it hadn't yet. And he deserved them, after all. He was worth crying for.

Sudden awareness of the time seized her. They would be back soon, the children. She had asked them to leave her alone for a while, and they had gone out to the store. She felt a little guilty sending them away, but she had to be alone for this. She had to do this, but she had still been postponing it.

Almost in slow motion, she stood and walked over to Tom's piano, opening the piano bench, quickly finding the extra copies that had been printed. Circle of Starlight by Thomas Schaeffer. In italics below the title came the dedication, "To Lynella. For everything. Forever." A cloudburst of tears threatened again, and she blinked it back. Placing the music on the stand, she played the first two notes, then stopped suddenly, her fingers suspended over the silenced keys. She could play the piano technically, but the touch, the talent could not be learned, and she had never had them. She wouldn't mar his music with her wooden playing. She would simply try to match the words to the golden memory of his playing it softly the other night, when it had been only a door that separated them. She sat back and started reading.

"When the sun rises to shine on our love,

With dawn's glow prefacing the brilliant day,

A circle of sunlight warms and greets us,

And the horizon of love still remains.

When storm clouds gather and rain beats the ground,

And love takes shelter to let the storm pass,

A circle of rainbows follows the storm,

And the horizon of love still remains.

In summer and winter, spring and in fall,

All seasons of love, the endless circle

Of sunlight, of rainbows, of starlight holds,

And the horizon of love still remains.

"And when life's landscape falls into shadows,

A circle of starlight serves as our sun,

Illuminating all that surrounds us,

And the horizon of love still remains."

The tears welled up again, and this time, Lynella yielded to them. First, though, she gently, tenderly closed the lid over the keyboard, lest her tears wash away his fingerprints from the keys.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Long but absolutely necessary. Ever since "Songs of Love," I have wanted to write a full-length story set in the world of music, but for months, my muse stubbornly turned her back on me. She's a hyperactive but temperamental muse, and probably her primary rule is that she suggests story ideas to me, not vice versa. This is why I'm such a lousy challenge writer. The most I can ever do is tentatively offer an idea, sit back, and apply absolutely no encouragement or pressure, and even then, it fails 95 percent of the time. She refuses to write on assignment. This was the state of things at the beginning of November 2004, when the adult professional choir I'm in started rehearsals for our Christmas concert. At that first rehearsal, a singer by necessity brought her 5-year-old son, who played under the pews. At the same rehearsal, in getting the new music, I learned that we would be singing a Christmas song that had been written by a veteran of the group who had been a very active and vital part of the choir for decades, much longer than my brief experience with them. Like lightning striking, my muse grabbed those two ideas, rolled them into a story seed, and had Swan Song already half outlined by the end of the drive home. I made up a fictional anniversary, a fictional song, a fictional crime, and fictional main characters to thoroughly differentiate the story from the actual choir and events I was in and ran with it. Swan Song was written over the next month and a half, flowing easily, and rehearsal every week was a neat parallel to the story, confirming the choir atmosphere. From the beginning, this last scene was my favorite in Swan Song, was conceived that first night of the idea, and was fully worded well before our December concert.

The night before our Christmas concert, the composer of that special piece we were singing died (of natural causes, not murder). The next night, we did the concert in his honor, with his song as the highlight, a tribute to a great human being, and I found myself living out a scene in real life that I had already written. The detail matching even in small areas is eerie, to the point that I was forced to conclude that the entire idea for this last scene had been some weird kind of premonition on my part. At least 95 percent of what you read actually took place, with only the CSIM-related areas differing. I did not plagiarize life; my scene was already fully written before then, but the experience shook me up, and I came closer to killing Swan Song, purely out of respect for the real events of that evening and the real man, than I have ever come to killing an FS story. After much consideration and even bouncing the dilemma off a few people, I let it stand in order to, as someone put it, "not let anything he inspired, even in a small way, die." My story is in no way meant as disrespect to the original events or people and did not copy from them. I will forever remember that concert as one of the most special musical experiences I have ever been privileged to be a part of. It was a celebration, a tribute, and ultimately a victory, and that view was expressed even by those closest to him. Music expresses completely what is beyond words, even all the multiple facets of grief, and the moods before and after that concert were quite different, though their subject remained the same. Swan Song cannot fully convey this musical journey, as a print of a painting cannot possibly share all the depth and overtones of the original. Life is the real work of art, the true song. With deepest respect, this chapter is dedicated to the memory of CF, whose music, like his soul, still lives.

(H/C)

"Let music never die in me.

Forever let my spirit sing.

Wherever emptiness is found,

Let there be joy and glorious sound."

"The Awakening," Joseph Martin

(H/C)

Brian gave a sigh of frustration and stepped back from the stand. He looked totally out of character in a formal tux, but the outfit wasn't the cause of his discomfort. "No. It's just slightly ragged; you aren't quite in sync with each other. It's good, but this choir doesn't settle for good. Again, from the top of page five."

The choir shifted uneasily and turned back the pages. Even Joy's playing, though technically perfect, was lifeless. The spirit just wasn't in the music tonight. They started again from the top of page five and sang on. Abruptly, Brian let his hands fall, not even finishing the piece, and the sound collapsed into silence. He sighed again and closed his music folder, then glanced at his watch. "Okay, people, and I'm including myself in this lecture. None of us are on tonight, and we have good reasons, but it's time to get it together anyway. We are giving a concert in 45 minutes, a concert in Tom's memory, and we are NOT going to be sloppy." The entire group flinched at the offensive word. "We don't need practice; we need to get our heads on straight. So I'm cutting rehearsal off 15 minutes early, and we'll go ahead and clear the hall for the audience to start coming in. Go off with your thoughts if you need that, talk to each other if you need that, and when we get back in here, even if you don't feel like it, pretend so well that you fool the audience. Regardless of what happened this week, it's time to get your act together. You're better than this. We meet in 35 minutes in the green room to line up." He turned away and walked off without a trace of his usual bounce.

"Sorry, Brian," somebody said, and he turned and smiled slightly.

"It's okay – now. The audience isn't here yet."

The group slowly broke up, heading in different directions, with little conversation. Sarah closed her music and aimed for one of the side doors, looking for a water fountain. Normally, there was anticipation and eagerness before a concert, looking forward to that indescribable moment before the audience, touching their lives with the music, but she felt pulled in two directions tonight. There was relief over Sam, mixed with shock and still some guilt over Tom. She had moved back into her house last night and had stayed up until 3:00, trying to clean up and put things back in place. If only life could be sorted out and restored as easily.

The area in the foyer outside the concert hall was already filling up, she noted. It looked like they would have a full house tonight. She found the water fountain and didn't even recognize the people in front of her in line until Calleigh spoke.

"Hey, Sarah."

Sarah jumped. "Oh, hi, Calleigh. Hi, Horatio. I didn't recognize your backs."

Calleigh gave her a smile that warmed her from the inside out and untied a few of the knots. No pity, but pure understanding. Sarah smiled back at her, a genuine smile this time.

"How's Sam doing?" Horatio asked.

"Much better. He keeps gaining on memory. He knows now that he was supposed to tell me something about the necklace, but he still doesn't remember Monday night. I told him about you, Calleigh, and that you and Horatio had worked everything out from what he said." She put a hand up reflexively to her neck, then froze in horror. "It's gone! It can't be gone again."

Horatio eyed her concert outfit, black pants, black shirt, and a nearly transparent black jacket with spangles on it, not silver spangles but black ones, gleaming darkly in the lights. "Did you take it off when you got dressed for the concert?" He looked around. "None of the other women in the group are wearing jewelry."

Sarah relaxed. "That's right, I did. We're supposed to match, so everybody removes necklaces and big earrings. I remember now; it's in my nightstand drawer at home." She gave a half-hearted laugh. "You two must think I need a keeper."

Horatio smiled at her, and like Calleigh's, it warmed her with understanding. "No, I just think organization isn't one of your strong points. Music, on the other hand, obviously is. I'm really looking forward to tonight." The line continued to inch forward.

"Music," Rosalind piped up from Horatio's hip. She had been so quiet up until that point that Sarah in her distraction hadn't even noticed her.

"Oh, hi, Rosalind."

Rosalind eyed her for a minute, considering, then finally said, "Hi."

Sarah grinned. "Somehow, I don't think she'll be a disruption in the concert."

"She won't," Calleigh assured her. "She'll sit still for hours listening to Horatio play the piano."

"How is Mrs. Schaeffer?" Horatio asked.

Sarah's grin faded. "Doing as well as can be expected. I called over there this morning and talked to her son. He said she hadn't decided whether to come tonight or not. At least the man was caught quickly." She frowned thoughtfully. "You know, the one thing I still don't understand about all this is how that man wound up at the church Thursday night. How did he know to look there?"

Horatio's eyes held hers for a moment, with the look of understanding suddenly deeper for some reason, then fell to his shoes. "I guess he followed me there, and I just didn't notice him." He turned around abruptly, as they had reached the water fountain, and bent to get a drink and let Rosalind have one. He stepped aside, leaving room for Calleigh. "Enjoy the concert, Sarah. I'm sure we will."

"I will," she said, suddenly half believing it. She touched his arm lightly. "Thank you for everything, Horatio. Don't blame yourself over Tom. Remember what Calleigh said about criminals." She bent to get a drink herself.

He nodded. "There's nothing any of us could have done to prevent it." There was absolute conviction in his voice.

Sarah glanced at her watch. "I've got to get around to line up in a few minutes. I'll see you later."

She darted off, music folder in hand, and Horatio turned toward the entrance to the hall. Calleigh came up beside him and touched him lightly in the small of his back. "Horatio, have I told you today that I love you?"

He looked down at her. "She couldn't deal with it, Cal. Not that on top of losing the necklace."

"I know. And I asked you a question."

He relaxed and gave her his crooked smile. "Yes. I don't mind hearing it again, though."

(H/C)

Brian was in the green room, eyeing the choir, which stood in rows in front of him. He glanced at his watch. "Two minutes. Everybody remember, folders in your right hand, even spacing as we walk in. Let's make this special." He nodded to the end person on the back row, and the group filed out, starting the walk through the back hallway of dressing rooms around to the stage doors.

The house lights had dimmed, and every eye was on the stage when the choir entered. Off to one side of the risers was an empty music stand with a rose on it, and a spotlight illuminated the display. The choir never looked that direction. In absolutely even spacing, they filed on by rows, folders in the right hand, and faced the front, although they couldn't actually see much of the audience at all against the stage lights. Last of all, Joy and Brian entered. Joy took her seat at the piano, and Brian opened the folder on his stand to the first piece, then looked up and smiled at the choir. Every eye was on him; he felt their focus now, as he hadn't felt it earlier in rehearsal. He set the time, nodded to Joy, and the concert began.

The entrance was superb, the precision tight, the expression eloquent. If some of them were pretending, they were doing a good job of it. Even though the audience wasn't seen, the choir could feel the response as the audience settled into the music, opening up to it, and the choir fed off their enjoyment and enjoyed it more themselves, loving what they were doing and doing it well. By the end of the first piece, nobody was having to pretend.

Rosalind was spellbound. Horatio glanced down at her shortly after the song started, and she was sitting motionless in his lap, head tilted slightly, eyes wide. He and Calleigh smiled at each other, then returned full attention to the stage.

The music wove around the audience, creating a tapestry of emotions. Love, joy, pain, humor. The hall was rippling with chuckles during Hey Nonny, Nonny, and during Prelude to Peace, Calleigh reached out and took Horatio's hand into hers, squeezing it tightly. Rosalind was so engrossed in the music that she didn't even notice.

With one piece left to go, Brian turned around to face the unseen audience. "To my right, you will notice a single rose on a music stand. That was placed there tonight in tribute to Thomas Schaeffer, a long-time member of this group, who composed our final song as an anniversary gift to his wife, Lynella. Tom had planned to conduct it tonight, but two nights ago, he was murdered simply because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The criminal was trying to silence Tom, but he failed. Tom may be gone, but nothing about him could be silenced by a mere bullet. The memories still live. His love still lives. His influence still lives, and his music still lives. In tribute to him and celebration of his life, we are proud to give the premiere tonight of Circle of Starlight by Thomas Schaeffer."

Brian turned back to face the group, and the audience was respectfully still behind him. He raised his hands but held them still for a moment, not starting the beat, as his eyes ran over the choir for a final check. Every eye was on him. He already knew, actually, could feel the silent focus, the readiness. He held 60 voices in one voice in his hands. Satisfied, he spared one thought for Tom watching, then gave the downbeat, and Joy began.

Tom's song of love rang out in peaceful clarity through the hall, the best they had ever done it, finally perfect. For once, there was nothing that could have been improved upon. They were singing with their hearts, but all the technical precision and control were there, leaving nothing to distract the audience from the pure music. Horatio's hand, still captured in Calleigh's, tightened on her fingers.

Far above, at the back of the second balcony, at the farthest possible point from the stage, Lynella sat in a row with her children. Closing her eyes, she could hear his voice again, hear him playing just a few nights ago, but suddenly, the door between them was removed. No longer muted, his voice was clear, his melody louder, his song complete as the choir sang the different harmonies he had given voice to. Tears tracked down her face, silent tears this time, and the living, breathing music swirled around her, completely filling the room, as the barrier fell and he sang to her once again.

(H/C)

Next on CSIM: Fearful Symmetry – "Betrayal." In all her life, there had only been two men who stood out as the embodiment of integrity, two men she had known she could count on in an unreliable world. And now, within days, they had both failed her.


End file.
